Nothing Is Forever
by Samyo
Summary: He can no longer remember the ones he killed, the ones he loved, but only that no one can be trusted...but will it last forever? Reviews needed! Readers needed!
1. The Apparent Demise of 007

**Title:** Nothing Is Forever

**Author:** Samyo

**Genre:** Mystery/Drama

**Rating:** T (may go up)

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**Disclaimer:** Own nothing, will never own nothing, yeah…

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**Author's Note:** Yeah, I deleted my other story…this is what it was suppose to be.

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"_Mister, nothing is forever. Only death is permanent. Nothing is forever except what you did to me."__- Ian Fleming, Diamonds Are Forever _

When he woke up, his head was spinning, ears ringing, but he fought the temptation to open his eyes. He had a feeling about what his eyes would find; her dead body, lying in a pool of blood. Her screams blared in his ears along with the ringing; perhaps they were the ringing. He could still see the terror in her blue eyes as Lott held the gun point blank atboth of them.

Then, it all went black, with her screaming fading away, and he was here, somewhere. His shoulder ached where the scaffolding had collapsed on him, his left hand bled where he had been shot; his breathing caught when he suddenly remembered the sensation of a needle pricking the flesh of his neck…

He opened his eye, and found himself on his back, staring up at a starless, moonless night. Where he was, he did not know. He looked around for anything; he was in a gray ally that could exist anywhere in the world.

The drugs made his vision blurry and threw off his balance; he wondered why he wasn't dead. What was the point of drugging him and dumping him somewhere instead of killing him?

He grabbed at the ally walls, going towards an apparent street. He had to stop to vomit; the drugs still had an effect.

There was a light around the corner; he could see the rays bouncing off puddles in the street. It gave him strength, seeing the light. He would go find a phone somewhere, anywhere…

He stopped to check his pockets, anywhere in his clothing where there might be something he could use; whoever dumped him had swiped everything off him, except for his tracking device.

"Good," he thought to himself, "they know where I am." He kept going toward the light again, even though the drugs blocked or distortedhis senses.

If he wasn't drugged, he would have heard the ignition of a car engine. If he wasn't drugged, he would have realized that the light came from headlights. If he wasn't drugged, he would have at least lingered in the ally for a few more moments…

He finally recognized the car, recognized it when the inside bumper hit his hip, dislocating it and sending pain throughout his body. He was being flyswatted, a tactic rare for these modern times, but something went wrong during the procedure.

The vehicle would then fishtail so the whole rear weight would sideswipe him, throwing him into the air, crushing him. This didn't happen; he ended up on the ground with the wheels of the car crushing his lower body.

The car sped away, leaving him in the street. Blood was everywhere; his leg, his hand, his head. His vision was clear now, but his mind was blank.

Bond focused his eyes on the disappearing tail lights, and then he focused on nothing. Then, as death tried to close his eyes, his mind reeled to an old blues song he heard on the radio once. There were no angels, no tunnel of light, but just an ironic twist to his apparent demise.

_"Baby, oh baby, won't you answer me please?_

_Baby, oh baby, won't you answer me please?_

_All day I stood by your coffin tryin' to give my poor heart ease."

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Please review.


	2. Rational to Primal

11 hits…I think I have a winner.

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M was sleeping when she heard the phone ring, making her almost jump four feet. She turned over, looking over the body of her sleeping husband, to the digital clock.

"3:30 AM, what the bloody hell is so important to be calling at this hour?" Then she woke up fully, remembering what special post she held at the SIS,better known as MI6.

The phone should have been next to the bed; it wasn't.

"God damn wireless," she mumbled to herself; she had left it in her home office. When she finally reached the phone, she picked it up, and looked over to her still sleeping husband, but turned all attention to the call. "Hello?"

"M, you need to get down her right away!"

"Who the hell is this?" She had only been M for one month; she still wasn't use to the job.

"Robinson, your chief of staff; you need to get down her right now!"

"What happened?"

"We can't talk about it on this line…" He hung up, leaving her puzzled. Everyone at the Ministry of Intelligence was paranoid now; every aspect of it had been compromised, including the previous M. Massive witch hunts were still ongoing, people would be there one day and then suddenly be retained and replaced the next. The same was happening with the American, French, Russian, all of the intelligence agencies of the world.

"Beaten at our own game," she thought to herself.

She looked at herself in the mirror; gray circles under her gray eyes, her shoulder length blonde hair a mess.

"I just had to take this job, I just had to."

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"Bond….Bond…" Someone was calling his name; was it her, was it them? He wasn't on the ground anymore, perhaps a stretcher? Wherever he was, he was moving, and whatever was moving had an engine. With alarm, he opened his eyes, taking in everything faster than his mind could process. Tubes and wires were everywhere, blood was everywhere, a radio was blaring in the background.

There was a woman with jet black hair, the only feature he could make out, preparing to inject something into him with a needle. Fear got rid of all rationality he once had, causing his primal side to take control. He would not be drugged again, refused to be, and right when she lured over him with the needle, he fought back.

"Bond, stop it!" she yelled at him. He tried to fight her, using every ounce of strength and adrenaline he could muster. "Someone restrain him before he hurts himself." A big man stepped forward and held him down as the woman went on with her work.

He looked at everyone in the vehicle; his mind couldn't register any of them. They could have been anything from paramedics to terrorists. One of them was suddenly over him, a black man with a beard Bond should of recognized immediately, but didn't.

"Bond, you need to calm down; no one is trying to hurt you." The man had a reassuring tone, but was too calm for Bond's liking.

"Who are you?" Bond yelled at the man. He struggled again, but the big man still held him down.

"I'm Felix, Felix Leiter, you know me." Bond looked into Leiter's eyes, trying to find something, but couldn't.

"No, I don't." Bond was now in full fledge panic, and was now entering into shock.

"He's going into shock," the woman yelled.

"Yes, yes you do. We first met at the Casino Royale…" Bond still couldn't remember.

"His pressure's dropping; he's lost too much blood," the woman yelled in almost a panic.

"… you ran out of money, I had to loan you some. Don't you remember? Vesper was with you…"

"Sir, you need to step back," the woman finally said to Leiter while pushing him back. Bond still looked at Leiter, refusing to look away. Then, he looked to the white ceiling of the vehicle, while his hearing focused on the many monitors and obscure noises.

"Where is she," Bond asked? He never knew if anyone tried to answer, for that's when the code blue was called.

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Please review. Flames are highly welcomed. 


	3. Scandal or Conspiracy?

This story may suck, it may not; I don't know unless you review, for reviews help make the story better and smoother.

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_**Two Weeks Later…**_

Andrea Syke was new to the Ministry of Intelligence, and so was everyone else in her department. Before her so-called recruitment, she had been a private practitioner of psychology in the City of London, and was called down weekly to do psych consuls at the New Scotland Yard facility. Her specialty was the treatment of PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or "shell shock." Ever since the bombings of London, along with Britain's servicemen coming back from tours in the Middle East, one could say that she got enough steady business to pay the bills and have enough left over to splurge afterwards.

She had a very high success rate of course, meaning that few of her patients committed suicide, committed homicide due to insanity, or had to be admitted to mental institutions by court order. This got her noticed by people higher up, the movers and shakers of government, and thus that is how she got recommended to the Ministry of Intelligence.

It caught her off guard, and quite frankly scared her. She got a phone call from a man claiming to be from the Ministry of Intelligence, stating that they wanted her to work for them. An appointment was made, and the man came to explain further.

He was a tall man, a ginger, and very thin but muscular. The name given was Agent Stedson, and that he was from the MI5 branch, though at this particular meeting, was representing the whole ministry. His orders were simply toconvince her to come; nothing more, nothing less.

He told her that her coming on was a matter of state secrecy, and that no one could know about it. Not her family, not her boyfriend, no one. She was told to keep the practice open but have her status be "on extended holiday." The government would repay money lost, and when things stabilized, she could return to it if she wished.

The way Stedson acted made it seem that the government was desperate to have her, which made her very suspicious. That was all she needed; becoming part of a huge government conspiracy or scandal. When it came to the part where she could ask questions, she had many, but the answers led to more, and those often weren't answered.

"Did someone in your psychiatric department recommend me?" she first asked.

"If they did," saidStedson, "I'm afraidI would have come to see you for a very different reason."

"I don't understand."

"The Ministrylearned of you through Scotland Yard, and after doing a thorough background check, and making sure that none of your family members, friends, or other relations had died mysterious deaths within the last seven years…" The man stopped, as if he just let something slip that he wasn't suppose to.

"Why would the deaths of people I know affect my candidacy for this job?" She had never heard of this before, making her definitely believe that this was a government conspiracy.

"All I can say is that there's a serious shake up going on, and more than ever, we can't just let anyone in." At this, he removed a business card and gave it to her. "Come to this address tomorrow, 10 o'clock sharp; don't be late." He got up to leave, and was halfway out the door before he turned around to look at her. "It overlooks Regent Park."

"I know," Andrea replied.

"Good, and remember…"

"Don't be late." He gave her a smile and was finally on his way.

She did go to the address, everything else was a blur, and she was now here, working at the Ministry of Intelligence, assigned to the MI6 branch which dealt with external intelligence affairs. She had only been officially working there fifteen minutes, though spent the three previous days being briefed on security measures, confidentiality measures, consequences of treasonous activities, and about how she was now an official government target for the enemy.

"All for Queen and country," she caught herself murmuring on a dozens of occasions in a very sarcastic tone.

In her fifteen minutes working there, all she had done was go through security, take the lift, and sit outside of person called M's office. The secretary, a red head named Miss Monypenny, told her to wait a few minutes, and that M would be with her soon. Monypenny tried to smile at Andrea, but it wilted away to a sad expression.

"Something big is going on here," was all Andrea could think. She scanned the wood paneled walls, knowing that they contained well disguised cameras within them. She stroked the red chair she was currently sitting in, knowing that it most likely contained sensors that scanned for traces of explosives.

Andrea Sykes, a girl from Northern Ireland, who was able to keep a rational head in the mist of turmoil, was now a paranoid mess. She was now a government target; being a civilian was suddenly a paradise.

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M fingered her small, conservative pearl necklace; she always did that when she didn't know what to do next. She was in the medical bay, looking over an agent seriously injured in the field. He was the best, and to their knowledge so far, had completed a mission that truly saved the world.

"But at what cost?" she said aloud, startling the doctor in the room.

"He'll live, maybe, I've seen worse pull through, but he'll never be the same."

"Has he been awake at all?"

"In and out, but we always end up putting him back under." The doctor pulled out Bond's chart, and shook his head. "It may get worse; we didn't have to amputate this time, but that doesn't mean we won't have to in the future. His hip's a mess, too."

"But he survived." M had spent enough time with Bond to know that he was a man that would be hard to kill.

"For now, yes, he's alive, but will he want to be when he comes around?" The doctor put the chart down and left the sterile room, leaving M alone. Then she remembered her appointment, and went to Bond's bedside to say goodbye.

"Take your time," she whispered to him as she ran her hand through his hair, "you have all the time in the world."

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_He was back in the French Riviera; he was twelve years old. He was on the beach, going to challenge a friend to a game of football. There was a girl, maybe three years old, crying and yelling at his friend._

_"Stop it!" she cried, "you're hurting it!"_

_"It's only a starfish," the boy retorted, smiling as he poked the creature with a stick._

Then, it all went black, and Bond was back to a dreamless, drug induced sleep.

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	4. An Explosive Entrance

People are reading this…yeah!

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Andrea was on edge, to say the least. It'd been fifteen minutes since Monypenny told her M would be right with her. Whenever someone passed, she prepared to introduce herself, for she had no clue as to who this "M" was and how he or she looked, but the person would pass, and she would try to relax.

"Andrea," she thought to herself, "just had to get yourself into this. Should of listened to mum, yeah. She said to be careful with these English, and now look at yourself; gonna end up dead before the day is over." She began to tap her foot against the chair, and then stopped, for a man walking through had stopped to talk with Monypenny. They would occasionally glance at her, making her uncomfortable, but then she thought that maybe this man was M.

They caught her staring at them, forcing her to look down. Her black skirt was ruffled, so she smoothed it out; they were still talking. Her black, Italian leather, tight knee-high boots had smudges at the toes; a kid on the Underground stepped on them. There was a snag on her gray knit top; this just wasn't her day.

She looked up, and the man was suddenly there extending his hand towards her.

"Hope you haven't been waiting here too long," he said in a deep tenor voice. Andrea found him very handsome; his dark brown eyes against his dark skin, his voice, his expensive looking suit; but then she remembered that she had a boyfriend who was obsessed with Doctor Who and the dream was over.

"Are, are you M?" she tried to get out while shaking his hand, but stumbled and felt like an idiot because of it. She wasn't feeling like herself at all; she felt small, intimidated, and dumb.

"Me? No, but someday perhaps. I'm Charles Robinson, M's chief of staff."

"Pleasure to meet you," she said, and then it hit her that he really wasn't M, and she'd have to wait longer. "Do you know where M is? I'm supposed to meet…"

"I'll be briefing you; she got called down to Q-Branch for something quite urgent." So, M was a woman; one mystery solve, but now Andrea was wondering what Q-Branch was.

"Doesn't this M have a name?"

"Yes, but for security reasons, she only ever goes by M; didn't they tell you during the security presentation?" Andrea got up from her chair, smoothing her skirt to give herself time to come up with an answer.

"Um…well…" Then she looked up and saw him smiling. "It, it was kind of a lot to remember; like years of university crammed into five minutes."

"I know the feeling. Anyway, we're running a bit behind schedule, so let's head into M's office, shall we?" He put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her to M's office door.

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M was on her way to meet the psychiatrist who would be dealing with 007, but she was called down to Q-Branch in transit.

"What the hell did he do now?" In herone monthas being M, not only did she have to re-secure all of MI6, along with the rest of the Ministry of Intelligence, from the Alliance, but also had to deal with Q's inventions turning up in the public eye. The worst was when an explosive chair found its way into Buckingham Palace; they were lucky that a steward was the one to set it off, not a member of Parliament or even the Royals themselves. He was still in critical condition; the tabloids, on the other hand, were having a field day, though thankfully never suspected MI6. Q thought the whole thing was quite humorous, for they ran headlines saying that the chair was meant to get rid of Princess Diana, but not even she would sit in it.

As soon as she entered the lab, a woman was testing out an I-Pod that triggered explosive charges; one of the explosions made M's left ear temporarily deaf.

"Q!" she yelled, though the explosions were over, "how many times do I have to tell you?"

"What can I say? You seem to attract explosive entrances," Q said while dusting off some debris from his lab coat. She didn't especially like Q; he was too carefree for his field of work. There were always accidents, minor and those that made all the windows in the building shatter, and there was a rumor floating around that most of these "accidents" weren't accidental at all, just Q testing his inventions on the interns.

"I don't have time for jokes; I'm already late for an appointment."

"Just a second, and please, step over here," he said while pulling her towards him.

"Q, what the…" He pointed toward a dummy that was internally combusting, another ability of the I-Pod.

"We appropriately have Nelly's "Hot in Herre" as the trigger for internal combustion."

"Q, why did you call me down here?" He motioned herto follow him to a window lookingonto the sterile lab.

"We've managed to piece together his tracking device."

"Have you've been able to get the audio files off of it?"

"God, no; remember when I said these things could survive almost anything, even being run over by a car? Well, they aren't made to have a tires go over them in a way, I guess you could say, caused by no traction, forcing the tires to rotate in place; I'm honestly surprised it didn't cut 007's leg off."

"So, why did you call me down?"

"Someone else was tracking him; we found an alien counterpart on the device."

"Can you track it's source?"

"Possibly, will take some time though."

"Need to tell me anything else?"

"Nope, just stop leaning on that chair." M looked down, not even realizing what she was doing.

"Why?"

"It's the brother of the one that ended up in Buckingham Palace."

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"_Alec, leave it alone; for God's sake man, you're making her cry." Alec was always doing stuff like this; he always got something out of the pain of others._

"_Why do you care? Is she your girlfriend?" Alec added emphasis to the last word, making Bond's hand turn into a fist. Before he knew it, he was wrestling Alec to the ground._

"_Stop it! Stop fighting!" The little girl tried pulling Bond off Alec, but he ended up pushing her, making her fall to the ground, making her cry even more._

"_James, look at what you've done?" The girl ran away, to a house further down the beach. James didn't mean to do it; Alec made him, so he started to pummel Alec even further.

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**Please Review.**


	5. A Certain Triston

People, review…or I'll use my Q-Laser on you!

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M's office was very modern, but just the right amount. There was still some classic looking furniture; wooden bookcases, a wooden desk, and black leather chairs. The more modern twist was a red sofa and glass coffee table in the corner, and clean white walls.

"Very comfy," Andrea thought, and was immediately envious. She followed Robinson to the big wooden desk and he pulled out a chair for her. She sat and watched him as he took a seat right next to her.

"Right, now…" He opened a vanilla folder that was lying on his lap, "Andrea Syke, born in Belfast to artist mother Michelle, still living, and to lawyer father Andrew, still living. Single child, majored Psychology at Oxford, does part time work as a psych consul at the New Scotland Yard facility, and was recently published in one of Europe's top medical journals." He raised an eyebrow, as if he was expecting Andrea to ay something.

"I don't mean to be rude, but is there a point to all of this?"

"Is the information I just said true?"

"Yes," but she stopped, remembering that something in the last bit urked her, "did you say that I was recently published in a European medical journal?"

"Yes, is that untrue?"

"I, I was published in an American one." He flashed a smile of approval.

"Good, you past the first test. Just making sure you are who you say you are." All it did was puzzle her, and then he turned serious. "I am perfectly aware that you have only been officially employed by MI6 for a very short time, but already, we have a very important case for you." He removed a picture from the other folder he held and handed it to her.

"Hey," she said while looking at it, "he's the one that was in the papers a few years back. He killed a man in broad daylight in London; they caught the whole thing on camera."

"Yes, well, even the best of our agents get caught on camera."

"So it is true then? I remember Scotland Yard was after the man killed; they weren't happy when you got him first." She studied the picture of the man again; he was very attractive, but in a more gritty sense. His eyes were a hypnotic blue with a tint of sadness to them. His hair was blond, but well groomed. The man seemed tired, like he had seen the rough side of the world more than once.

"To MI6 and other branches of the ministry," Robinson said while she continued to look at the photo, "he is 007. He also holds the rank of Commander in our own Royal Navy. To everyone else, however, he's Bond."

"Bond?" She stopped her gazing and looked up at Robinson.

"James Bond. The best agent we've ever had, stellar success rate, completes almost all objectives given to him…"

"Let me guess, it went to his head and we now have an Apocalypse Now scenario?" Andrea was not a crisis negotiator, and she openly refused to do any fieldwork for MI6.

"No, no, God no, um…" Robinson stopped and looked straight at her, and had a questioning look come over him? "What were you told about why we hired you?"

"Well, a man named Stedson came to my office and said me coming on was a matter of state security; also said something about how you guys did a background check of recent deaths in the last seven years. And of course, someone else told me how you've replaced the whole psychiatric department." She came off irritated when she said all of this, which she didn't mean to, but the whole situation was very frustrating.

"To double check, has anyone you've known died in the last seven years?"

"Well, leaving out the occasional patient who kills himself, not really."

"Not really?" There was one death that came to Andrea's mind.

"My former best friend's husband, God rest his soul, was murdered awhile back. Decapitation by chainsaw is what the police report said. Found the burnt body in his burnt car. A few months later, found the head floating in the River Thames. Though I could have sworn that agent Stedson said you all checked for suspicious deaths; last time I checked, murder seems very suspicious to me." Robinson was somewhat lost for words, but continued nonetheless.

"What was his name and the name of his wife?"

"Jacob Riley, his widow, she goes by many names, but her last name stays the same always; Triston."

"By chance," Robinson asked, "is this the same Triston that's a detective for ScotlandYard?"

"Yeah, that's her, assuming that no more Tristons have joined the force." Andrea noticed that this new information bothered Robinson, and made him uneasy.

"Let me go see what taking M; will you excuse me?"

"Of course." Robinson seemed to be in too much of a hurry to find M, heightening all of Andrea's suspicions. She watched him exit the room, leaving her all alone in M's office. Without thinking, she got up and went to the window, and found that it looked over Regent Park. "Stedson got something right, apparently."

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M had just managed to escape the Q Lab with all limbs still attached to her body, when she saw Robinson coming toward her. His face had a "bad news" expression on it, and he was close to running, so M automatically assumed the worse.

"Robinson? What happened now?"

"We have a problem; Stedson, the agent from MI5, did the background check wrong."

"What?"

"She's linked to Natasha Triston; I'm not even sure if we can use her now." M took a moment to think, for it was now clear that they were now treading on uncertain waters.

"Does the girl know about the Alliance? About Natasha?"

"She said they used to be friends, I can assume that they haven't had contact in quite some time. Regarding the Alliance; Miss Syke seems clueless about why we hired her."

"From this point forward, we only tell her what she absolutely needs to know; withhold any information regarding Triston for as long as possible. Until Q can lift those files off Bond's tracking device, she is the only way we can possibly get anything regarding Bond's completion of the mission.

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_"James…James…JAMES!" Bond could feel two strong hands pulling him off Alec; they belonged to his father. "What has gotten into you? Answer me!"_

_Bond looked over and saw that Alec was getting a similar talk to by his Aunt Margo. He turned back to his father, looking him dead in the face._

_"He was teasing a little girl."_

_"What little girl?"_

_"I don't know; she ran to one of the houses further down the beach."_

Everything suddenly went black, a dream of the good times vanishing before it was over. These dreams, these pointless dreams were all he could remember. He wasn't even sure if they were real.

Was that man really his father? Was Alec really his friend? Was Margo the real name of his Aunt? Who was the little girl who still pained him when she cried?

Bond knew nothing more, maybe even less; all memories had been repressed, maybe even taken away. He no longer remembered the countless men he killed, the countless women he supposedly loved, or the few who ripped his heart to pieces. Perhaps it was for the best that he didn't remember that certain woman who meant everything to him, was everything to him, and had something that gave new meaning to his life…

All he remembered was that he was Bond, James Bond, and that he could no longer trust anyone.

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Pay attention, this story is very twisty, and has important clues for future chapters. Have any theories about what's going on? Put them into a review, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you know if you're on the right track. 


	6. The Dice Are Rolled

Sorry for the wait, but I had to finish my summer work for school, and a couple of Bond books.

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It had been five minutes since Robinson went to fetch M, and Andrea's paranoid side was taking over again. Standing by the window, looking at happy couples taking a stroll through the park was the only thing keeping her calm. Then she remembered that one movie that was on the other night, the one where they'd leave people alone for only a second in a room, and a poisonous gas would engulf them and kill them instantly.

She glanced everywhere, looking for anything suspicious, but then a sudden realization hit her.

"Andrea," she thought to herself, "you are such an idiot." For extra measure, however, she ran her hands a few inches from the where the window connects with the wall; she could feel a very slight, but still present, draft.

Knowing now that air from the outside was coming in made her feel much better, so she took her seat again, and just as she did, Robinson and a woman, possibly M, walked in.

The woman looked good for her age, late fifties, maybe early sixties. Her hair went to the shoulders, was blonde, but very slightly blonde, just enough to add color to her white hair. The woman was tall and thin, her face a bit bony in a way that was beautiful. Her gray eyes seemed evermore piercing against a navy blue work suit, but were neutral when it came to showing emotion. In general, the woman didn't come off as a loving mother hen, but guarded to the extreme.

"M," Robinson said as he started his introduction, "may I present…"

"Miss Andrea Syke, yes, I know already." As she shook Andrea's hand, she showed a great big fake smile, all for show, not fooling Andrea at all. "Let me apologize, first and foremost, for the delay, and," giving a look over to Robinson, "the incredible lack of information given to you on the grounds of your hiring. People here a too…I don't know the word, but I will do everything in my power to much sure you never have to face that again."

Andrea had remained seated the whole time, and turned to watch M sit down on the other side of the desk. Robinson was about to take his seat again, when M interrupted.

"I require no more of you at the moment, Chief of Staff."

"But M," he said in his defense, "I think it would be in everyone's good interest…"

"It would be in everyone's good interest if you let me do the job that you, up to this point, have grossly failed. Now, please, leave; Miss Sykes would probably like to be working on her new case as soon as possible."

Andrea watched, lost for words, as Robinson left; he didn't seem happy at all about the whole arrangement, and neither did Andrea. He gave the glimmer of protection and safety, M seemed like she was about to eat someone alive.

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M had to fight not to laugh when Robinson left, though noted to herself that she should be harsher on him next time. Their quickly planned act had worked, for the moment at least. She had come off as harsh, firm, and in power; hopefully this would make the girl less likely to go snooping where she shouldn't.

"First off, Miss Syke, I expect everyone under me to work with the greatest efficiency and skill. I only hire the best, and expect the best, along with the most loyal. You are from Northern Ireland, correct?"

"I know where this is going, and I'm saying it once; I'm not IRA or any of those groups." M was impressed by the sudden show of backbone, self-defense, from this tiny figure. A fire was igniting in her dark brown eyes, the same color as her hair.

"So you would serve the crown, even if it cost you your life?"

"Only if the cause is just and for the greater good, though the job description never said anything about the possibility about losing one's life."

"Yes, but every job comes with risks, especially if you work for MI6; what do you know about MI6, Miss Syke?" This girl wasn't as clueless as Robinson let on, but men have always been bad when it came to reading women.

"It deals with external security affairs, espionage, and intelligence gathering from abroad." M was impressed; usually people would say that it did something along the lines of MI5 and left it at that.

"That is true, very true, and may I tell you now that our branch also goes by the name SIS; the Secret Intelligence Service. Hence the title, all of our dealings are top secret, even our jobs are top secret. As you saw out front, our building poses as the headquarters of a private corporation, and those employed here pose as someone from a different trade, more than one if they're at the top of their game."

"So what did Mr. Bond pose as?" Robinson had told M beforehand that he had only given basic information concerning 007.

"A banker, though, like my chief of staff said, he was our best agent, so he posed as a great many things. Anyway, as they told you during the security lecture, you must tell no one of this location, or the fact that you're doing any work for this ministry whatsoever. Promise me now that you won't."

"I promise." The girl meant it, M saw. Her voice didn't falter; her eyes did break with her own.

"Good, well, now to answer some of your questions. You are probably aware that we had to replace our whole psychiatric department, along with many others. Since your status is seen as temporary, I cannot give you full details, but only that the ministry was compromised severely, and possibly still is; because of this, you only talk to those I deem okay to talk to."

"How bad, if you mind me asking, was it?"

"Let's just say I've only been working here a month longer than you have, and I'm still daunted by the whole scheme of things." She gave Syke a smile, for comfort, but then remembered that she had to be firm. "That is all you need to know, and maybe, if you decide to work for us longer, you'll know more, but now for the job at hand."

"Why was I screened for relations who'd died in the last seven years, and the one who was, why wasn't he deemed suspicious?" Syke looked at M as if she wouldn't look away without an answer.

"Those who were compromised had the death of at least one relation in common; this all you need to know and I urge you to not ask anything further about the subject. Miss Syke, though murder is horrible in all ways, not all murders are linked to a huge conspiracy. There are sick people out there, people with the compulsion to kill. The husband of your friend was a victim of this, nothing more."

M had just told a giant lie, but she had to steer Syke away from the truth for as long as possible.

"So, Miss Syke, are there anymore questions about your hiring?"

"No." M was shocked a little, for she thought that a girl like Syke would want to ask more, but it just meant that she could now explain her first case.

"077, Agent James Bond, got banged up pretty bad on his last mission; he'll most likely survive, but he isn't out of the clear yet. Though, it is safe to say that he won't be doing anymore field work anytime soon. However, our people who rescued him were very alarmed by the fact that he recognized none of them, especially a CIA agent that goes way back back with 007."

"Well," Syke chimed in, "assuming that whatever banged him up was very traumatic, it is possible that the shock of it all led to the supression of memories, you know, as a possible coping device."

"Miss Syke," M said as she grabbed 007's file and handed it to her, "as you look through there, you will find that this so called supression of memories has happened to Mr. Bond before, but even when that happened, he could still remeber his work colleagues. Though, we all hope that maybe it was just a symptom a shock, we still must consider the worst case scenerio." Bond was the only one who knew if the mission had been completed, where other possible Alliance headquarters were, and if they had somehow survived, what other operations were they planning; they needed his memory back.

"I don't mean to question your confidence in me, but I have next to none experience in these matters. Though, I could direct you to those who..."

"Monypenny," M said as she spoke into the reciever, interruping Syke, "could you please escort Miss Syke down to sickbay." In a flash, Monypenny was there, ushering Syke to the door. M was already having doubts about choosing Miss Syke, but Scotland Yard had insisted on using her.

"The dice have been rolled," M's husband would say about situations like these, "and now all we can do is wait."

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"James...James...can you hear me?" The voice belonged to a woman, young and beautiful, judging on the voice. She touched Bond's hand affectionately, causing his eyes to open suddenly in response. He was in a room, some room; perhaps medical, though looked more like a torture cell. His eyes darted everywhere in a panic, his brain going into overload.

"James, I'm going to tell the doctor you're awake now." The angelic looking woman left, to get what she called a doctor, but perhaps the doctor would be his interrogator, one who used all means neccessary to find the information he or she wanted.

Bond realized that he had to leave, but he couldn't move without causing pain; he was hurt, badly. He looked down and saw that his left leg was in traction, and that the right...all he knew was that it hurt the most and was injured the most. His right hip hurt like a mother, and realised that he possibly had a broken pelvis, maybe even some ribs.

It made his heart sink when he realized that he couldn't move, couldn't get out, and would be unable to fight against any attempts on his life.

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This chapter sucked, but it was just me trying to get back on the horse. Please review anyway.


	7. Old Dreams

One review! I'll shut up and write now…..

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She was in the lift again, though this time, she was accompanied by Monypenny, M's personal secretary. Though she hadn't really been properly introduced, she felt that Monypenny was the exact opposite of M, for which she was eternally grateful.

"So," Monypenny said while interrupting the silence, "you're the one who's going to get Bond back to his normal self." She showed a brief, sad smile; alarms were going off in Andrea's head. M had told her to only speak to those deemed fit, and to her knowledge, Monypenny wasn't. So, she stayed quiet, and let Monypenny continue.

"Known him for over ten years now, might even be fifteen. Always brightened up my day seeing him; it brought old dreams back."

"Dreams of what?" This was probably another one of M's or Robinson's tests, but she didn't care; she knew nothing of this Bond and needed any information she could get her hands on.

"Nothing, just some young girl's fantasies; didn't you see his picture? Women would give anything to be with him, I'd…" She stopped herself and took a breath, as if she were about to break down into a sobbing fit. Andrea didn't need anything explained to her about Monypenny's true feelings for Bond; she knew how to read between the lines.

"If you could, what could you tell me about Mr. Bond?"

"Well, he was in the Royal Navy."

"No, that isn't what I mean; could you tell me anything personal about him?" At that moment, the lift jerked, causing Andrea to bump into Monypenny. "What the hell was that?"

"Oh, that's just the new screener; problem is that they have to stop the lift for it to get a clear reading. You'd think that in this day of age, they could make the process a little bit smoother." She gave Andrea another smile for reassurance; Andrea felt sorry for anyone with claustrophobia who had to work at MI6.

The lift continued its original course, Monypenny acting as if the interruption didn't happen, Andrea still a bit shakened.

"Now, what were you saying?" Before Andrea could answer, the lift doors had opened, and Monypeny was ushering her out.

"I was asking if you could tell me something personal; I haven't had a chance to look at his file."

Monypenny stopped and steered Andrea to the side, talking in a whisper.

"His parents both died when he was twelve; accident, supposedly. Never talked of them, though when I looked through his psych resords…"

"Why would you need to look at his psych records?" Andrea was now panicking; Monypenny was a test, a test she had just bombed.

"Who do you think put that file you're holding together? Anyway, as I was saying, though he downplayed the whole thing, he was very close to his parents, which was surprising, considering their class."

"They were rich?"

"Yes, though nothing like Bill Gates or the Royals. He claimed their deaths didn't change anything, but I noticed while looking through his school records, a few of his instructors showed concern about his tendency to prefer being alone, though his Aunt claimed that he always was like that."

"Poor thing; did you see anything about him seeing someone for it?"

"No," Monypenny said while shaking her head, "the first one I saw for him was for when he joined the armed forces; routine, nothing suspicious. He only went when it was routine, though M tried to make him see someone when Tracy died…" Monypenny then started to act like she had forgotten something, and began taking glimpses at her impersonator Diamond Rolex watch as if to regain composure.

"Who is Tracy?"

"I need to go back to the evil Queen of Numbers'; don't like the woman one bit. Personally, I preferred the last M over her, even if he was a traitor. Think you can manage to find the sickbay?"

"Um, I guess…" Monypenny had reentered the lift before Andrea could finish her reply.

Andrea had no clue where the sickbay was, and considering that she was at MI6, entering the wrong room could mean certain death.

"And this time," she thought to herself, "there are no windows."

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While Monypenny was escorting Ms. Sykes to the sickbay, M was busy phoning the director of MI5.

"Said Stedson was the best man for the job," she said to herself aloud, "what a complete fucking tosser." She waited for four rings until the secretary answered.

"Director Roan's office."

"Yes," M said with a pleasant mask to her voice, "this is MI6 calling. May I speak with him?"

"Director Roan is busy at the moment, can I take a message." M rolled her eyes when hearing this; it was obvious that he was appointed because he was chummy with the Prime Minister.

"Yes, can you please tell the Director to call me, or else he'll find a very unpleasant surprise, of the Buckingham chair incident flavor." She slammed the receiver with this, hanging up on the secretary.

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"007…007?" A man was leaning over Bond, possibly of Indian or Middle Eastern descent. His accent was native London, and from his clothing, was some sort of medical personnel. Bond knew that if his motives were sinister, he was screwed, but prayed to God that he wasn't.

"Can you tell me who I am?" Bond shook his head "no".

"My name is Doctor Singh. I am the duty doctor of this sickbay. Can you tell me where this sickbay is?" Bond shook his head "no".

"Understandable, they all look the same after awhile. This sickbay is in the MI6 Regent Park Headquarters. Where are the Reagent Park Headquaters?" Bond had heard of Regent Park; it was in London.

"London." Bond's answer was firm.

"What is MI6?" It rang bells in his head, but it wouldn't come to Bond. He shook his head "no".

"It is the intelligence agency for which you are employed." Bond shook his head "no" again, for he would, of all things, know where he worked. Doctor Singh jotted something down on Bond's chart, and then looked at Bond again.

"One last question, no wait…what does 007 mean?" Bond refused, on a subconscious level, to remember this. He shook his head "no".

"You are a double agent employed by MI6." Though it wasn't a question, Bond shook his head "no".

"Agent Bond," the doctor said as if it would reach Bond better, "that nurse that was in her earlier, can you tell me her name?" Again, Bond shook his head "no". With no emotion, Doctor Singh left, and Bond was all alone, awaiting a fate that not even he knew.

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Sucks mucho, but do I care? Nope, I'm glad I got this chappie done, considering that school makes it almost impossible.


	8. Water

Only one person has reviewed, twice…oh well.

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**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The obituary clipping was taken off an IMDB message board.

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She took the hallway to the end, taking a left, and then taking a right somewhere along the way. The white walls heightened her anxiety, and though she wasn't, they gave her a feeling of claustrophobia. Her heart was thudding in her chest, her breathing speeding up. She had to stop to calm down; her eyes looked up to the white ceiling as she leaned against the wall.

When Andrea came back to earth, her eyes went to the file. She flicked through it, and found something very peculiar; an obituary, or at least, part of one.

_James Bond was born of a Scottish father, Andrew Bond of Glencoe, and a Swiss mother, Monique Delacroix, from the Canton de Vaud. His father being a foreign representative of the Vickers armaments firm, his early education, from which he inherited a first-class command of French and German, was entirely abroad. When he was twelve years of age, both his parents were killed in a climbing accident in the Aiguilles Rouges above Chamonix, and the youth came under the guardianship of an aunt, since deceased, Miss Charmian Bond, and went to live with her at the quaintly-named hamlet of Pett Bottom near Canterbury in Kent. There, in a small cottage hard by the attractive Duck Inn, his aunt, who must have been a most erudite and accomplished lady, completed his education for an English public school, and, at the age of twelve or thereabouts, he passed satisfactorily into Eton, for which College he had been entered at his birth by his father. It must be admitted that his career at Eton was brief and undistinguished and, after only two halves, as a result, it pains me to record, of some alleged trouble with one of the boys' maids, his aunt was requested to remove him. She managed to obtain his transfer to Fettes, his father's old school. Here the atmosphere was somewhat Calvinistic, and both academic and athletic standards were rigourous. Nevertheless, though inclined to be solitary by nature, he established some firm friendships among the traditionally famous athletic circles at the school. By the time he left, at the early age of seventeen, he had twice fought for the school as a light-weight and had, in addition, founded the first serious judo class at a British public school. By now it was 1980 and, by claiming an age of nineteen and with the help of an old Vickers colleague of his father, he entered a branch of what was subsequently to become the Ministry of Defense. To serve the confidential nature of his duties, he was accorded the rank of lieutenant in the Special Branch of the R.N.V.R., and it is a measure of the satisfaction his services gave to his superiors that he ended his term of service with the rank of Commander. It was about this time that the writer became associated with certain aspects of the Ministry's work, and it was with much gratification that I accepted Commander Bond's post-term of service application to continue working for the Ministry in which, at the time of his lamented disappearance, he had risen to the rank of Principal Officer in the Civil Service._

It raised more answers than questions; Ministry of Defense? Him going missing? She searched the clipping for a date, or even for a source, but none was given. She wrinkled her brow, for she was now in deep thought, but was quickly brought out when a man's voice startled her.

"Can I help you, Miss?" She looked up from the clipping and saw a tall, almost lanky man standing in front of her. A pair of thick black glasses hung from the pocket of his white lab coat, surrounded by multiple pens. He was obviously Indian, or something of the sort.

"Yes, could you tell me how to get to the sickbay?" She tried to come off innocent, as if it could possibly help her cause. "I'm new, and she sort of just left me here."

"Who, if I might ask, left you…here."

"Um, Miss Monypenny. She had some matters to attend to and sort of left me here to look after myself."

"By chance, are you the psychologist Scotland Yard is loaning out?"

"Yes, if that's the proper term for it."

"Come with me." The man turned and walked away, with Andrea assuming that she ought to follow.

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M patiently waited; Roan took threats seriously, especially if they concerned him. He was also very easy to size up; the man had no back bone, and was lucky that he managed to keep some hell from breaking loose in his domain.

As if on cue, she heard Monypenny's voice over the intercom.

"M, Director Roan is on line six." M picked up the receiver, and started to chew him out without mercy.

"I know you are not a perfect man, Mr. Director."

"Look, M, I'm…"

"But when it comes to important matters, matters that could affect you directly, I expect you to be pretty fucking close." M was yelling now, and she could almost see Roan cowering in his office.

"The branch is going through a stressful time…"

"Yes, well so am I, and you don't see me acting like a bloody sod hopper." There was silence on the other end; dead silence. She swore to God himself that she'd kill Roan herself if he wasn't listening. "Roan, are you still there?"

"Yes, M; what type of man do you think I am?"

"A man who's agent, one you said which was the best at these types of tasks, completely overlooked the most valuable information."

"M, I can personally assure you…"

"Not only did he deem a certain horrendous murder of a relation of Ms. Syke unsuspicous, but completely overlooked the fact that she knew a Valentina Natasha Triston quite intimately; good friends they were, or at least, that's what my Chief of Staff figured. And, looking through the background check notes, it doesn't even appear that there was a screening of her mental health."

"Well," he said, with a gulp, "that's your folly, not mine."

"Really?" M was sounding ultra nasty now. "And, please, implore me; how the hell is this my fault, when, you were the one in charge of this, and, if memory serves me right, you said it would be of no inconvenience, whatsoever."

"Well, if memory serves me right, M, usually its good protocol to double check these things yourself."

"Why, when you're so capable of doing it yourself?"

"In my defenses, Queen of Numbers, usually a mental history doesn't come to mind when dealing with a shrink; since when did the insane treat the insane, if you know what I mean."

M had enough; she slammed the receiver, tired of the moron on the other side.

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Bond didn't know why he was suddenly feeling this way, like darkness, an anxiety, had fallen over him. There was something, something he couldn't recall causing it. It was big, meaningful, horrifying; all at the same time.

He racked his brains, looked around the room for something that could jog something. A sweat went over him, he shook uncontrollably; he remembered that something bad, very bad, incredibly bad had happened.

"There was someone…" An image for half a second had sprung up in his head, but he couldn't make it out; it was blurred by water.

"Water," he said to himself, "water."

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Water…water…mental health…hope you're paying attention.


	9. All Fun and Games

A different person reviewed…yeah!

* * *

As the man, Andrea assuming him to be the doctor, escorted her to the sickbay, he quickly briefed Andrea on Bond's condition.

"The man isn't holding up very well; got the hell beaten out of him and then some. Almost complete memory lost; knows his name but nothing else, though I've only been able to ask work-related questions."

"Work related?" Andrea interrupted.

"His status in the ministry, location of our headquarters, recognizing one of our nurses…."

"Do you think I could possibly talk to this nurse?"

"Of course; anyway, regarding his injuries, they're very bad indeed."

"What do you think happened?" Before he could answer, he ushered her to take a left at the dead end of the hallway.

"This is what we think happened, and this is pure assumption; from the bruising and cuts found on his back, something fell, maybe even collapsed on him. From the CAT scan, we found signs of a slight concussion; maybe caused by the debris falling on him, maybe caused by something totally unrelated. He was also shot in the left hand, leaving both and entrance wound."

"I don't know much about ballistics, but could you tell if it was in defense or not?"

The doctor shook his head, "Our people were too busy stopping the bleeding to do a living autopsy on 007; forgive my frankness, but everyone has been under the gun lately, and this isn't helping much."

"His injuries, in the scheme of things, don't seem severe enough to leave him in this condition."

"Yes, but that's only the half of it; he was also drugged and flyswatted." They had arrived at a security checkpoint, and Andrea assumed that on the other side of the big metal door, lay the sickbay with 007. Both showed their ID cards, both were run over with the wand, and both had to stand in front of surveillance cameras for another scan, or so Andrea thought.

"If you haven't heard already," the doctor said to Andrea, "the sickbay was also compromised, but not by our staff. Visitors, if you can believe it; we now have to keep a visual log of all of those who enter and exit the bay, including our staff."

After a few more uncomfortable moments, the guard gave them the go ahead.

"Have a nice day, Dr. Singh," the guard said with a smile. Andrea noticed that the guard was middle-aged and a bit on the chubby side; not exactly the profile for a security guard in a place like this.

"You know, Harry, it was nice the first time today, but after the twentieth time, it's a tad bit repetitive."

"Well, I'd like to see how you'd do it; this all seems like fun and games, but guess who has to go through all this shit at the end of the day. They're lucky they're paying me more, or else…" He started to say some more expletives, but as the big metal door shut behind them, it blocked it all out, leaving an errie silence in its wake.

* * *

"Monypenny; Monypenny, are you back yet?" M said into the receiver of the intercom.

"I'm here," Monypenny said in reply, along with what sounded like her taking her seat.

"Do you know if Robinson is still in the building?" She could hear a typing keyboard in the background.

"Um, I don't know…he was supposed to be at the American Embassy to go over security plans for the President's trip next month, but to my knowledge, that was cancelled indefinitely."

"I need you to call his Q-mobile; when you get a hold of him, tell him I want him to fix the problem personally." Though Q claimed that his mobiles were secure, and impossible to hack into, M liked to keep conversation to a minimum on them. They were meant to be a last resort if there was no other way to communicate securely, but anymore, agents would use them like regular cell phones, which was a major pain in the ass when it came to billing.

"I'm calling him right now." M needed this done as quickly and as quietly as possible; the Yard hated it when they were snooping around their employed; made it seem that they were more incapable of handling anything than they already were. Robinson was the exception; his father was one of the force's finest; him getting killed an hour before retiring gave Robinson added sympathy, and a blind eye when he had to snoop around.

They needed to know that Ms. Syke was on their side, and they needed to know now.

* * *

He couldn't remember anything; Bond was almost sure of it, though it never left his mind that this could all be a massive trick. For some reason, if felt like he had been given false memories before; or maybe it was just the current paranoia.

"My name is James Bond," he thought to himself, "I'm in London. London is in England. I'm British; I'm safe. The man said I'm in London, the man said…" No, Bond decided that he couldn't rely on the man's information, but only on what he personally knew. It had already been decided that he wouldn't let himself panic anymore; panicking is what gets you killed.

"Both of my legs are broken, but the right seems worse than broken. My hip is definitely broken, though it seems worse than that. If I try to move, it hurts to breathe; my ribs are either broken or bruised. My left hand throbs; the bandages are bloody and it's in a temporary cast; the bones in my left hand are broken, too. My shoulders ache, but I think its just bruising. My head is spinning; I might have been knocked out, or it's just the effects of the drugs."

This was all he knew about his current situation, and it brought him little ease. He tried to recall the dreams of France, the snapshot of water…none of it would come back. He tried to remember basic things; birthdays, his mother (did he have a mother?), where were his parents (dead/alive?), what he did for pleasure, women he loved…

The only thing that happened was the return of that dark feeling engulfing him, suffocating him till he couldn't breathe, but leaving as quickly as it came.

* * *

Again, sorry, but school sucks like that… 


	10. Skin Deep

I'm back…so sorry…but stuff happens…school…going to a haunted house but then getting sick so then I couldn't go…read some James Bond books…get sick again…countdown to Casino Royale…its been exhausting!

Also, reviews are now mandatory, or else I'll have to behead you with my Q-Laser which is currently calling your I-Pod home.

* * *

"This way," the doctor said while motioning Andrea into the sickbay. It wasn't at all what she expected; it was as if she had walked into a miniature hospital.

The room they were currently in was very small, supposedly a reception area. It had chairs, even a table covered in magazines. Judging by the cameras and sensors on the wall, Andrea guessed that it was also used for secondary screening. The walls were a light blue, the floors a white tile; a smell of antiseptic was already drifting through the room before Dr. Singh even opened a door leading into a small hallway.

Judging from the sign, to the left was an x-ray room, an examination room, and a storage room where they kept extra supplies. Right in front of them was a booth used to distribute antibiotics and other medications. The nurse manning it was a tall, blonde woman with very fair skin. Her blue name tag read, "Kitty Marie."

"Nurse Marie, this is...what's your name again?"

"Andrea, Andrea Syke." The doctor had never asked for her name, but at least he knew it now.

"Yes, Ms. Syke is the psychologist on loan from the Yard," the Dr. Singh said while introducing Andrea to the nurse, "she'll be helping us treat 007. If you should be requiring anything, Nurse Marie is at your disposal."

The nurse had barley looked up during the whole introduction, putting Andrea slightly off, but she figured that the nurse was busy doing paperwork and was fully concentrating on that.

Dr. Singh lead Andrea to the right end of the hall; this was where the OR and ICU were located, and further down, there was a temporary morgue.

"Though it says ICU," the Doctor interrupted, "but we use the beds for all those who pass through here. We avoid using the OR as much as possible, only using it for minor things such as removing bullets and things like that; it's only used if it's too dangerous for the patient to be at a normal hospital."

"Where was Mr. Bond treated?"

"First, at a small hospital near Divaca, Slovenia, but then was transferred to Trieste, Italy, where most of the surgery took place. Highly illegal, but you do what you have to do. However, we were able to legally transfer him to Paris"

"So, you didn't do any of the surgery?"

"Course we did, we ended up cleaning up the French's mess; the French are all about giving as much care as they can on the spot, not about just stabilizing someone and getting them to a hospital. Christ, you know if Princess Diana had been treated by paramedics from America or even England, she would have lived."

Andrea had believed this all along, though had waited for a medical professional to say it first.

"So," Andrea said while getting the conversation back on track, "what happened next?"

"Oh, we got him on a medical helicopter back to London, to an actual hospital, but it wasn't secure, thus making us clean up the French's mess here, and here," he said motioning her into the ICU, "is the man himself."

* * *

"Damn it," Monypenny said aloud; the computer had froze again, and there was no other way for her to access the Ministry's phone directory. She could walk down to Q-Branch to look at the hard copy, but that would probably involve her having to speak with Ann Reilly, or Q'ute as the men liked to call her.

"Oh, now let's not all shag her at once, shall we," she muttered under her breath; she hated the woman, but only because all the men drooled over her, including Bond himself.

"Can't blame him, for who hasn't he shagged?" Then she remembered the fact that she never had him, and probably never would, this making her envy of Q'ute even more stinging. She loved James, betting that Reilly treated him only as a trophy, but they could never be together; Bond would never let it go beyond flirtation.

_"Bond, you could have asked for a different hotel; I think M would understand, considering your history with it."_

_"It's fine Penny; why does everyone make such a big deal out of it? Its ancient history, I've moved on." _

_She continued to stare at the exterior of the hotel Casino Royale; so beautiful, yet full of ugly memories. It was the place that started his journey in life as a 007, his first journey into real love, and events that scarred him for the rest of his life._

_"Well, if you say so…" They were posing as a couple on vacation; normally, secretaries didn't participate in this sort of work, but she was still qualified. She knew how the espionage world worked, and her rank in the Royal Navy allowed for these "perks."_

_As Bond checked in, she could sense that he was on edge; there was no need to be, for the mission was really non existant, just an excuse to force 007 into a vacation. _

_On their way to the suite, he stopped in front of a door, but then kept going; she knew that that room must have been where they stayed. She could almost see him there, with Vesper, him holding her, kissing her, telling her that he loved her…_

_"Monypenny, you okay back there?" His speaking jolted her from her thoughts, and she started heading towards their room again._

_Dinner was imperfectly uneventful; they talked of the usual fare; politics, war, Q's latest invention leaking into the public eye, complaints of the current M, even the weather; anything that only went skin deep._

_She had never thought that Bond, her James Bond, had ever loved her, but for a split second, when he kissed her, her thought on the subject changed. When he touched her, it changed, but then she had to remind herself…_

_"We can't do this," she said during a break between the kisses. She pushed him away; put back on the articles of clothing he had removed, and walked away to her end of the suite._

_"And why the hell not?" He wasn't with anyone at the time, and his "valentine" was merely a blimp on the radar, a chase that had just begun._

_"Because…because I don't love you, and you don't love me, and I don't do shag as an extracurricular activity." This hurt him, bruised his ego; she could see it in his eyes._

_"How do you know that I don't love you?" She knew that she would have to answer this, and was dreading it even before he asked._

_"You're as cold as ice; you weren't always like this, you use to be different."_

_"So you're saying that I'm too cold?"_

_"Yes, and too armored; if you loved me, you wouldn't be." He was speechless, but she kept going. "I've seen you around people who you've actually loved, or had feelings slightly resembling love…"_

_"And how would YOU know if I loved someone?" He was yelling at this point, and Monypenny wanted to cry._

_"Because YOU become human; you're no longer cold, you let people in, you bleed…you're not some immortal bastard…you're not…you're not some heartless, soulless, walking corpse whose emotions are skin deep, and only capable of feeling things skin deep."_

_She left the room; in the morning, both acted as if nothing happened._

Get yelled at by M for not getting the number, or confronting Q'ute and having several thoughts of homicide brought on by jealously pop up in her head.

"If I end up stabbing Reilly with her own stilettos because the Geek Squad keeps staring at her ass, M and Q-Branch are completely responsible."

* * *

The doctor had returned, accompanied by a small woman. Bond didn't see her as a particular threat, though then again, she could be helping the doctor with his business, a business that could end up getting very nasty where Bond was concerned.

"007, it's nice to see you're still up," the doctor said as a possible greeting. Bond tried to remember his named, for he thought that the doctor had said it earlier. "007, this is Ms. Andrea Syke; she's going to help you the best she can."

The woman approached the bed, with Bond trying to move as far away as possible.

"James, I'm not going to hurt you; no one here is trying to hurt you. Do you even know why you're here?" Bond refused to answer her; he stared at the wall in defiance.

She went back to the doctor, he could sense it, and he could barely hear them whispering.

"Has anyone explained to…"

"We assumed that he …"

"…scared…I'd be…too…"

"…wasn't like this the last time…"

"…need…brief…what's happened…"

"…in file…Robinson…didn't…"

"…I need to see…alone…"

Bond was dozing off again, and no matter how much he tried to stop it, sleep came anyway, but before he fell into a dark abyss, he saw something else…

Blood.

* * *

I'd review if I were you, for Q-lasers tend to be very...VERY hot. 


	11. Opening Credits

Nothing is Forever

Lying here, seeing only red

Afraid, that this is the end

All I know, all I think

Is that you don't die, if you don't breath

Or at least, you don't, right away

As soon as your lips, tasted mine

I saw death, in the corner of my eye

And I knew, when I fell for you

I'd died, because it was just too true

No need to worry, when it's getting blurry

You'll never die; death is an illusion

When it ends, you'll come back,

Throw a rose in my direction

And six feet later, I'll remember

That nothing is forever

Don't know why, it took so long

To realize, that I was so far gone

Red on shattered glass, red on my wedding dress

We had all, the time, in the world

Until it ended, right between the eyes

Is it murder, when you say you love me?

Is it a crime, when you push me away?

All I know, is that you'll never say goodbye

When morning comes, I'll be dead, or you'll be gone

No need to worry, when it's getting blurry

You'll never die; death is an illusion

When it ends, you'll come back,

Throw a rose in my direction

And six feet later, I'll remember

That nothing is forever

And if, we were, to survive

And if, you would stay, by my side

I don't know, how much longer, it would last

My heart is breaking, because both ways we would lose

No need to worry, when it's getting blurry

You'll never die; death is an illusion

When it ends, you'll come back,

Throw a rose in my direction

And six feet later, I'll remember

That nothing is forever


	12. The Three F's Club

_**Two Weeks Later…**_

"In order to be a Double-Oh within the jurisdiction of the SIS branch, also known as MI6, of the Ministry of Intelligence of Her Majesty's government, one must abide to these guidelines. A Double-Oh does not fear death, and will not give into torture. A double-oh has Olympic level shooting skills. Though a Double-oh may double-cross his/her own parents, a Double-oh will never double-cross the organization. A Double-oh knows knowledge that would surprise even a scholar, and a sense of humor that would make even a bad girl grin. A Double-oh has the sociability of a lamb, but must remain a lone wolf. A Double-oh has the highest level of experience with alcohol, gambling, cars, and food. Most of all, a Double-oh may fall in love, but he/she can never love."

Andrea had been jotting all of this down on a notepad while Robinson was speaking; only looking up when she realized that he was finished. Even with an extensive file on Bond, a file which she had read front to back, ten times last count, she was still drawing blanks on getting his memory back. However, it didn't help that she had to wait a week, for it turned out that Bond was still on amputation watch, and even when he was somewhat out of the clear, all she had really managed to do was make him less paranoid about his situation, and try to explain what they think happened to him.

"That's the textbook guidelines of a Double-Oh, supposedly, though I have yet to see one actually follow them; these rules date back to before the Cold War, but we still use them during the recruitment process." Robinson was wearing a charcoal covered suit with a dark navy blue tie; Andrea really had to try hard not to drift into dreamland, but his deep tenor voice didn't help matters much. "We really try to recruit individuals who are naturally solitary, but not to the point of being considered anti-social; if anything, we try to make sure that they have no real ties to anything."

"So if they don't come back, no one will miss them?" Though she tried her best to be neutral, she was already developing an opinion about the Double-Oh section; she felt sorry for them, and at the same time, wasn't surprised for Bond's breakdown a.k.a. memory loss.

"That's a very blunt way of putting it…"

"But it's true; you pick people to do your dirty work who won't be missed, and possibly, since you make sure they're solitary by nature, they have no close relations to go 'postal' on, along with not being missed." Robinson was somewhat lost for words, but found them still.

"Ms. Syke, may I remind your position here is not to pass judgment on activities, which by the way, protect innocent lives everyday, but to get our best agent's memory back, for he may be the only one who knows…do you have anymore questions that I may be able to answer?" Andrea was nothing but intrigued by his sudden outburst of annoyance, but was even more intrigued about what he almost said.

"What does he know that's so important that you're giving a damn about an agent who, at other times, would be put in the gutter along with your other dirty secrets?" Andrea was suddenly recalling her thoughts of government conspiracies when she was first employed by the Ministry of Intelligence.

"If you have no more questions of relevancy to this case, I must ask you to leave." Robinson was about ready to get up to escort Andrea out when she got back to business.

"Can you possibly get your hands on some photos for me, well, photos I can show Agent Bond?"

"Is there something wrong with the photos given in the file?"

"Well, besides the fact that most of them look like either headshots taken by the Metropolitan Police, or taken at a 3 AM stakeout, I think it would better if I could get some normal photos; you know, like photos from holidays, special events…"

"Personal photos, you mean?" At that moment, she could of sworn that Robison took a quick look at her chest, covered by a white silk top that showed the tiniest bit of cleavage, and went quite nicely with her navy slacks.

"Yes, and of specific people; it might also help if Agent Bond has seen these photos before."

"Ms. Syke, I know that it might seem that…"

"First, I one want pictures of his parents, preferably the last ones taken of them, and if you could, ones that also contain Agent Bond with them. I know that they died a few weeks after Christmas, and assuming that they were somewhat normal, and not the upper-class snobs they appear to be, you may be able to find some home movies also. Second, I want pictures of Vesper Lynd."

"Of all that you have asked me so far, that may be the most difficult."

"At the time of her death, the file said that she was on holiday with Agent Bond in Venice; knowing any criminal investigation, which her death did fall under, I bet anything that there is a camera locked up somewhere with photos. Third, I want pictures of the wife, along with a Fredricka von Grusse whom he was engaged with shortly. If you can, it might help to track down photos of any memorable past girlfriends."

At that point, Robinson let out a chuckle, causing Andrea to raise an eyebrow.

"Ms. Syke, apparently you missed the fact that he was a known womanizer, the definition of a bachelor, three F's and all."

"Oh yes, the Find, Fornicate, Forget club; I feel so proud of Her Majesty's government for employing such scoundrels, and at the same time, feel even less remorse for his current lack of memory."

"Oh, Ms. Syke, of all people, I would have never of thought of you as being an advocate for Feminism and the downfall of men, but that's how life works." At that moment, the sexual tension was at its height, and Andrea was so tempted to stab him with the ballpoint pen he was currently holding in his very attractive hands…

"Again, I think you can manage; in the file, I read that he fathered a son to a Kissy Suzuki; is there any withstanding relationship with her or the boy, James Suzuki, or is she just another victim of the Three F's Club?"

"To my knowledge, he has offered to pay child support, which has been refused, but has never actually met the boy. However, this is to my knowledge; Bond is known to occasionally do things under the radar." Her temptation of stabbing him with his ballpoint had subsided, but she still listed it as one of her options.

"I should have asked this earlier, but at the time leading up to his grave misfortune, was Bond involved in any sort of relationship, one night stand or even serious?" Robinson was thinking about what to say, she could tell; he would straighten his tie whenever he was trying to say the right thing.

"Bond kept his private life private, but I'll have someone look into it." She already knew that he was lying, for he tightened his tie again. "Ms. Syke, I hope I have been of some help, but I have an appointment…"

"One last thing, Chief of Staff; would it be possible, for me, to get access to his flat in Chelsea?" Robinson was amidst putting his various documents together when he suddenly stopped and looked up. "I would be escorted, of course, but it would be absolutely necessary to the case. It would just be getting some personal objects, things to jar his memory." Robinson looked down for a moment, but then looked at her again.

"I'll see what I can arrange, but I can't promise anything."

* * *

M had just received the proper background check on Andrea Syke; MI5's own Agent Stedson was even there to present it. By all the ass kissing he had been doing since he arrived, it was clear that Stedson had done a good job this time, for his own job was most likely on the line.

"From what I see here, Mr. Stedson, all still seems fine; your ass is not mine just yet." She could tell that he was very uncomfortable, even felt sorry him; she felt sorry for anyone who had his boss for a boss.

"Thank you, though as I stated before, it won't happen again."

"However, there is one thing that concerns me still," she said while peering at the file through her spectacles, "her relationship with Triston."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but our vetting turned up nothing suspicious about it." This was the point where M gave her stare that made Stedson feel like he was loosing his soul.

"Stedson, you're a smart man; a fool could tell me what's wrong with this picture with zero vetting. And also, don't use the term 'vetting'; it's vile and seems like something from the Cold War."

"They were friends from primary school, through college, but went separate ways when Triston's husband was murdered; I'm sorry, but I don't see what you're getting at."

M was now not surprised that the finest intelligence agencies of the world were so severely compromised; instead, she wondered why it hadn't happened sooner with it being run by idiots resembling the one sitting right in front of her.

"Triston was, possibly still is if we don't find a body, 007's latest flame; Syke is the shrink assigned to recovering Bond's memory back. Bond will get his memory back, she'll find out about Triston, and the Alliance; is it just me, or do I see a possible problem here?" Stedson, if anything, resembled a deer in headlights at that very moment. "Get out of my office, now."

* * *

A football match was on the telly; from watching it, Bond realized that he wasn't a football fan.

"One more mystery solved; now, a billion more to go." He turned his attention to the unopened red Jell-O lying on his tray. "Now," he thought to himself, "The attempt of solving another one."

As he removed the lid, which stubbornly tore in half while removing it, the nurse (Kitty Marie?) entered to see how he was doing. If anything, he would call her a ten; maybe he'd try to see her under better circumstances when this all blew over. She was a angel in all her looks, but when it came to her personality, would she be a devil?

"Oh, Agent Bond," she tried to act surprised when she saw him eating his Jell-O, "nice to see you've chosen the most healthy entrée on your plate." Bond had been feeling nauseous, due to some medication, and still struggled to eat solid food.

"Forgive me; I thought it was some fruit." That joke was pathetic, but the nurse showed a smile anyway. She went to the foot of his bed and took a seat while looking at his chart. Her head then nodded toward the television.

"Who's winning?" Bond was distracted at first, but then realized what she was asking.

"Don't know, haven't been paying attention really." The angelic nurse got up to grab the remote.

"Would you like me to change it to something else?"

"Could you change it to CNN or the BBC News? I feel like the outside world might not even exist anymore." She hesitated for a moment, but then smiled again.

"Why don't I change it to a nice classic movie channel, and I'll stay and watch it with you."

* * *

**Author's Comment:** Someone needs to write some Charles Robinson fics, because he's so fine…oh…and go see Casino Royale (it rocks my socks!). 


	13. To Serve an Ideal, To Serve an Actuality

Robinson would admit that the weather was rather unusual for the month of May; still chilly, very cloudy, and made him think that those global warming blokes might be on to something. Yet, as he noticed countless couples in love walking throughout Regent Park, he realized that there were more important things on deck at the moment.

With his well trained eyes, he noticed a man in a gray trench coat, upper sixties, using a cane; if Robinson didn't know that this man was Bill Tanner, chief of staff to Lady Barbara Mawdsley, the M during his term of service, he would have automatically assumed that the cane served a more sinister purpose.

"Charlie," Bill Tanner said while waving Robinson down, "been circling the park for the last half hour looking for you. What was the hold up?"

Robinson motioned to Tanner that he was coming to him, causing Tanner to lean against a tree in his waiting. Tanner had seen a lot during his time with the service, yet not even the best trained field agent could see it in his disposition; anyone who saw him would assume that he either had arthritis or had a hip replacement, not that he had shrapnel permanently lodged in his hip due to a successful assassination attempt on Mawdsley's replacement which involved a car rigged with explosives.

"Like you weren't late to a meeting once or twice in your day, especially under the circumstances you saw." The two men embraced like old friends meeting for the first time in years, yet in reality, it had only been at most a month. "Need to sit down?" Robinson questioned Tanner while motioning to an empty park bench.

"Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Nurse Marie had brought some paperwork to do while staying by Bond's bedside, not that he was boring or anything; it just served as a distraction.

"If I was cruel, I would take advantage, but I'm not…" In her mind, she wheeled countless fantasies of running off with him when he got well, but they always ended as nightmares when he finally regained his memory. "It just wasn't meant to be."

She looked to the telly; Casablanca was on. She remembered seeing it at film festival a few years back; Bond had taken her after treating her to a nice meal at Veeraswamy's, one of the best Indian restraunts in town. Bond had originally wanted to watch the news, but she had orders, and she followed them.

"Under the circumstances," the woman called Syke had told her, "no news programs for the moment; we have to bring his memory back in the least traumatic way possible." To be honest, she had no real opinion about the woman, except it always puzzled her why the woman didn't hold the title "Dr."; it wasn't of any concern to her, so why bother questioning it?

She looked to Bond, his striking blue eyes fully concentrating on the screen…he was concentrating more than people usually do.

"Agent Bond…James…are you alright?" She wasn't sure about what she was supposed to do; no one told her what warranted calling the doctor or shrink in this special case.

"There's just something…" She could tell from his face that something was coming back; could it be their night together?

"This is my favorite scene, you know, with the guy singing the song for Ilsa and Rick comes in." Bond paid no attention to her, for his mind was somewhere else.

* * *

There was something there; his brain was working overtime, trying to figure it out. He'd seen this movie before, but hell, millions of people have seen this movie.

"That's it," he whispered under his breath.

"What's it?" the nurse asked, but he never bothered to answer.

This scene meant something to him.

"You must remember this…"

There must have been someone.

"A kiss is still a kiss…"

Yes, there was someone there with him.

"A sigh is just a sigh…"

Or maybe his mind was making something up.

"The fundamental things apply…"

But if it was nothing, why was his mind trying to recall it now?

"As time goes by…"

He was on a couch, maybe even a living room, his living room.

"And when two lovers woo,"

He could recall the sensation of someone snuggling close to him.

"They still say, 'I love you'…"

He could almost feel her silky hair.

"On that you can rely…"

And he knew, somehow, that she didn't exist anymore.

_"No matter what the future brings…"_ It was a sweet voice, a woman's voice; her voice.

"I'm getting Ms. Syke right now…"

"She isn't it." He was now staring blankly at the wall.

"What do you mean she isn't it?" The nurse was already half way to the doorway, Syke's phone number looping in her head.

"She's been dead awhile; she isn't it."

* * *

Before Andrea got Nurse Marie's call, she was busy interviewing a Nigel Smith, the man who was Bond's personal assistant. He was around her age, maybe a year or two older than herself. He was tall, though everyone was tall compared to her, had dark hair, and was very sharp intellectually.

"So, if I've got this straight, your position was terminated shortly before Bond's last assignment."

"No, it was more like I was transferred."

"Transferred?"

"I'm now 0010's personal assistant." Andrea had seen enough of this sort going on at the Yard; assistants are reassigned when…

a.) their charge requests it

b.) their charge is retiring

c.) their charge is being fired

d.) their charge is being fired

"Was it requested by Bond or yourself to be reassigned?"

"I sure didn't request a transfer, and 007, if anything, seemed as surprised as I was. He went to M to ask why, though…you've met her." Andrea was now leaning toward c.) and d.) indefinitely.

"I know that I probably have next to no clearance in knowing this sort of thing, but when I first came here, M's chief of staff told me that Bond has a stellar success rate."

"He's the best double agent that the service has, or had." Andrea couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this. "I was removed from active duty due to injuries sustained in the field, and they were nothing compared to his; combined with his age, I don't thing they're going to give him his wings back."

"Even before the mission, was he, or had, been the service's best double agent?" Smith shifted uncomfortably in his chair; she could tell that he respected his former boss greatly, and didn't want to rat him out.

"What are you getting at, Ms. Syke?"

"Judging from what you've told me, it seems that Bond was getting close to being put out to grass, for being good or bad is what you need to tell me."

"Or maybe he was being promoted." His tone was now very defensive, but Syke still didn't back down.

"Look, I know that you feel very loyal to your former boss, but his file has given me nothing, Robinson has given me nothing, all close personal relations that could serve relevancy are dead and buried; you'd be surprised about how much current work status can affect one's mental health.

"So, you think he went off the deep end because his days were numbered?"

"I've talked to men who've killed their wives when they lost a job, and they didn't even really know why, so why should I? Repressed childhood trauma, passive aggressive problems, bi-polar disorder…anyone who's anyone can assign a mental condition to explain someone's action, the only question is if that anyone can back it up with evidence that actually exists. And for your information, Bond shows no signs of insanity. Now, can you please answer my question?" She knew that when he was getting up and leaving his own desk, she was probably permanently on his bad side, but even Andrea judged prematurely sometimes.

"He had been the best agent the service had ever known; they say that every agent faces a point where one must decide to serve an ideal or an actuality."

"And what were those to Mr. Bond, Mr. Smith?"

"The ideal is to do whatever the organization tells you to, assuming that it is in the interest to protect the free world. The actuality is that the free world is a world of ruins, and that you do what you have to do to stop from joining those ruins."

As he left she felt her pager vibrating; she was being called to sickbay.

* * *

My last update of 2006, the year of 007 awaits! 


	14. An Elementary Approach

**Disclaimer:** The song in the previous chapter was from the film Casablanca which I don't own (literally).

* * *

**Author's Note:** Unlike the writers on LOST, I know what's going on…trust me.

* * *

"So," Tanner started the conversation, "what's so important that you called me back down here? Thought you flushed the 'unclean' out; though, I heard from a friend that some are still being weeded out of the Opposition." The Opposition was, of course, referring to MI5 and the special branch of the Metropolitan Police known as the Secret Service.

"If 007 did his job, we could let the 'unclean' go free; as useful as chickens with their heads chopped off with their leaders gone."

"If they're gone, and that's a pretty big if. I still don't know how it's possible, even then; I'm still used to seeing the old scenario of a leader being taken out, another comes to replace him, and so on, and so on." Robinson nodded in agreement, for like Tanner, he was still unnerved by the new breed of terrorists.

"I still don't get how they made it work; use fear as a weapon, like every other damn terrorist organization, but…"

"They abused it; using fear to gain a means is one thing, using fear as your only recruitment tool is quite another; when the leadership is removed, the enablers of fear are removed, the masses below them resemble rats trying to escape a sinking ship."

"But there must be a second step; they knew, even a fool would know that it would never last. Even with the tightest surveillance, the best security in the world; people still defect…"

"I know you didn't call me down here to discuss the next big thing; I know as well as you do that the rats are decoys." Robinson had, in fact, called Tanner for an entirely different reason.

"It's about 007." Tanner was the only person Robinson could talk to, the only person who would listen. "I think he caused the amnesia."

"Well, do you see any other options? Unless our brothers at Langley found something we didn't in the tox screens…he did it before, he obviously did it again. He's flesh and blood; a man can only take so much."

"No, I literally think that he caused it." Tanner's only response to Robinson was a shrug and a shake of the head. "He has no recollection of anything, whatsoever; just looking at him, you know he isn't the same man. Before, if I understand correctly, he was able to remember some personal acquaintances; his prime caretaker, a nurse that he was shagging every night for month, a woman he's seen everyday since we admitted him to sickbay…"

"He acts like he's never seen her before; and before, I'm afraid we stretched the truth a little."

"Bill!" Tanner, a man Robinson had always looked up; the revelation was shocking in itself.

"Do you honestly think that M would let Bond be a Double-Oh if she knew that he had completely gone off the tracks? He was one of our best agents, a good friend of myself; I thought that I was doing what was best for my country and him. How was I supposed to know that this would happen again? And for your whole he did it on purpose, like that one CIA agent (what's her name, first part was some city in Australia), I think its bullshit." Robinson was looking off at some couple thirty yards away, making Tanner reemphasize the "it's bullshit" part.

"I know that Bond, when you worked with him, wouldn't do it, but you've seen his current record; I remember looking at it thinking, 'Oh, I guess Records aren't as organized as they used to be.' He got sloppy, barely go the job done; if it weren't for the Alliance compromising us, he would have been fired."

"No, just put in an office with a desk, allowed to collect dust with all the other relics; maybe be put in line for M, but he'd never take it. The man wasn't sloppy, just tired, burnt out; there's a reason why forty-five years of age, what he'll be turning in a couple of months, is the cutoff for Double-Ohs; if they aren't dead, they're outdated, no longer of use." Tanner would admit later, that he was surprised when hearing of 007's success rate at that point, for though he himself had never seen an active Double-Oh see the age of forty-five, he always thought the Ministry would make an exception for Bond.

"The woman definitely has a part in it, no matter how you look at it; women have always been his weak point."

"You think something happening to Natasha caused it, or do you think she literally caused it?"

"She was the reason he got sloppy, distracted him…"

"Loved him, and he loved her…Triston was on our side from the beginning, so don't you dare play that card with me. If she was the cold blooded traitor you and Lady Mawdsley have branded her as, why would Romulus let her leave MI6 and join the Yard? Romulus was insane, yes, but she wasn't stupid; Triston was on the fastlane to becoming a Double-Oh. Putting one of her comrades in M's chair was one step, compromising every department imaginable was the next one, especially the most prestigious ones." Tanner had a point, but Robinson had a stubborn edge.

"There were a dozens times where Triston could have exposed the Alliance…" Robinson began to argue.

"Yes, she could have, and then would of then witnessed the systematic slaughter of everyone she's ever held dear; the entrapment of fear kept her from doing it, and it's a miracle that she was even able to reach out to Bond with no fatal consequences to her relations." Tanner was about to say more when Robinson's Q-Mobile rang.

"What's happened now?" He had never received any good news on the device, only news that complicated his position further. Tanner could tell that he was annoyed by the thing and couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"Oh, the perks of the job; back in…" Tanner was interrupted by Robinson motioning for silence.

"Something's coming back to him." He quickly told Tanner while placing the Q-mobile back in his pocket. "You'll be sticking around for awhile, right?"

"You know it; I want to be within range to hear where you find Triston's body, though I heard from a friend that some of you think it might be walking around somewhere."

* * *

"What happened?" Andrea questioned the nurse.

"I think something came back to him; we were watching a movie on the telly, and he looked all strange, and then he said something about some one being dead, and that she wasn't it." Andrea at this point was going through the pictures Robinson had given her.

"What were you watching?"

"Casablanca, on that classic movie channel; he acted a little weird the other times we watched the channel, but it was nothing like this."

"Why wasn't I told?"

"I though it was the medication or something, or at least that's what the duty doctor told me…"

"Which one?"

"Alberts; he's on his way back from the lower levels as we speak." Andrea had found the photos she wanted and went over to Bond, who was looking at the wall, but looked at her when he sensed her approach.

"James, I have some photos here; when you were watching the movie, you remembered somebody, a woman. I need you to point at the one you remembered." She felt like a preschool teacher asking a three year old which animal was the elephant, but sometimes, the elementary approach is the best one.

"Is there something I can do?' The nurse asked innocently.

"I need you," Andrea said in a whisper, "to go to the nearest video shop and get copies of all the films you two watched; if anything, make sure to get Casablanca."

* * *

Bond was looking at some photos; what else was he suppose to make of them? Looking at them evoked certain feelings. One made him feel betrayed, hurt; he picked it up.

"James, is that the one you remembered?" The small woman, the one whose last name sounded like her profession, asked him this. He shook his head "no". "James, I need you to pick out the one you remembered."

"I know these women?" This was the first time he'd ever seen the photographs. "Who is this one?" He shook the photo he held at her.

"Why?" The small woman responded. She made him feel angry, but he had to control it. He stared back at the photo; the woman was pale, blue/green eyes, brunette, beautiful. It looked as if the woman had taken the picture herself; she looked happy, but sad at the same time. "How does it make you feel, the photo."

"Betrayed, hurt, but she looks sad, so she didn't mean it." The small woman looked satisfied.

"Her name was Vesper Lynd; she killed herself a few days after the photo was taken." Then, Bond reached for another photo; this one made him feel guilty, that her death was all his fault…

"She," he pointed at it, "died because of me."

"Yes," the small woman said while dialing a number on the bedside phone, "yes, she did."

* * *

Please review, or else its downhill form here. 


	15. The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend

**Author's Note: **No Bond in this chapter, but you need to read it anyway. Also, in the reviews, tell me what you like, what you hate, what you think is going on, and what you want to happen. Oh, and I have no clue what video rental places are in England, so I'm just gonna give Blockbuster and Netflix a nice little product placement.

* * *

It was 2 pm in London; everybody was now off their lunch breaks and back at the office; Nurse Kitty Marie, however, was searching for movies at the local Blockbuster. Apparently, the obese, bald man at the counter wasn't use to seeing customers at that hour either, for he was in the back, watching a football match; his team was down six points, putting him in a very irritable mood. He was put into a further spiral when he had to come out of the back to make sure that this unusual, and rather annoying, customer didn't try to lift anything.

Whenever Kitty's parents would ask her why she didn't become a doctor instead of a nurse, she'd tell them the usual, "But there is such a need for them right now, and I'd definitely get work somewhere." In actuality, she could never be a doctor because she would never be able to handle the pressure; with this in mind, you can almost imagine how stressful it was with the man at the counter staring at her while she tried to find the film Sabrina.

"This is why I use Netflix; someone else searches for the movies," she thought to herself, and tried to imagine that the bald, fat man wasn't staring at her ass.

When another customer ("Thank God," Kitty thought) entered, the bell at the door startled her, almost making her drop the stack of DVDs she juggled along with her purse. As if by instinct, she looked at the clock; it'd been forty minutes since she left the Regent Park headquarters.

"Syke is gonna kill me," she accidentally said aloud, attracting her fellow customer's attention.

"That's why I always call ahead," the man said with a cheeky grin. He was leaning over her almost, for she was still crouched down on the floor, reaching for the last movie on her list. "Shouldn't you be at some hospital, flirting with a doctor or something useful like that?"

"Sod off," she told him, finally getting a look at him; ginger, tall, thin but muscular; nothing remarkable or worth noting to herself. The man let her be, though she swore that she heard him laugh a bit under his breath as he moved toward the counter, striking up conversation with the bald fat man.

"Got the new release yet I've been asking for, Frank?"

"What'd think, John?" So the man's name was John; again, nothing noteworthy.

"You, mate, are supposedly the best in town." Kitty was towards the back, fumbling in her purse for her Blockbuster card, praying that it hadn't expired.

"And you, mate, have 'Pacific' taste," the fat man named Frank laughed jokingly. "British porn ain't good enough for you, yeah?" Kitty already knew that John was a prick; now, he was just a perverted prick.

As fast as she could, she went up to the counter, waiting while Frank rang John up.

"So," John said to Kitty, trying to act smooth, "want to hear me cough later?"

"Fuck off." Both men laughed while Frank handed John his receipt, and as Frank finally got around to Kitty, she couldn't help but notice that John hadn't exited the store.

"You know, this could constitute as sexual harassment."

"I'm waiting for my partner."

"So, it's true," she said while getting her receipt "all Englishmen are really gay."

"No, but is it true that all nurses are tarts?" She didn't even bother to reply and quickly exited the store, and imagined telling James Bond, after she ran ran away with him, about this John. She could almost see him enter a jealous rage, a rage that would sadly cause him to shoot John in the head with his favorite Beretta.

If Nurse Kitty Marie had received the training that others employed at MI6 had, she would have noticed the earpiece lodged in John's left ear; an earpiece that was not utilized by any government service within the British Isles at the time. When John was sexually harassing her, she would have noticed that John appeared to be pushing a button on his cell phone multiple times, and by the way he was holding it, may have possibly been photographing her.

However, Nurse Kitty Marie had no training, so therefore, had no reason to see any of these things as noteworthy.

* * *

Very few people know that during times of possible or post terrorist acts, COBRA, a crisis committee consisting of various officials and representatives of Her Majesty's government, is called into session deep under Whitehall. To be precise, it is held in the Cabinet Office Briefing Room, which resembles what one may call a "war room" during such circumstances.

9/11, the first London bombings, various Middle East Conflicts, and during all the averted and successful terrorist actions taken by the Alliance; these, and many more, were the reasons that COBRA existed. In recent turns of events, however, all of their meetings revolved around one name, it seemed; Bond, James Bond.

The meeting was called to discuss a discovery made by Q Branch concerning an alien counterpart on Bonds' tracking device; the discovery was being presented by M, Q, Anne Reilly, and the particular man who discovered it, Dr. Peter Amadeus. The head of S section was also there to aid the presentation if needed; though originally created to deal with the Soviets, S section had since been converted to deal with things such as WMDs that disappeared when the Soviet Union fell. By judging by who was present, the discovery was seen as a major breakthrough; the Prime Minister, who was usually represented by an aide, was actually there in person.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Prime Minister started, causing silence in the room, "may we all take our seats so we may begin as soon as possible." Everyone, almost robotically, took their seats, and started to shuffle through countless folders that lay before them. "M, representative of MI6 branch, has the floor." As the Prime Minister took his seat, M stood up and presented to the committee.

"If you have not heard already, MI6's Q Branch has made an important breakthrough in the case of the Alliance…"

"Are they gone or still walking around, that's what we need to know," someone towards the back of the room heckled. M completely ignored the interruption, and continued.

"Around two weeks ago, Q-Branch was able to piece together 007's tracking device; however, in the course of doing this, an alien counterpart was discovered and it became our top most priority, along with lifting off any surviving sound files, to trace this counterpart's origin. Quartermaster, may you please present your findings to the committee."

As Q made his way to the white wall towards the front of the room in order to explain the coming projections, a rumble of conversation spread through the room but quickly died down when Q was finally in position. When Q motioned to Anne Reilly to start the slide show, the room was completely silent.

"If you didn't know already," Q began but stopped to let out a few coughs, "this is what our standard tracking device looks like; it is roughly the size of the American penny and is almost weightless. It is standard because of its durability, signal strength, and is almost impossible to detect. It is usually worn on the backside of a watch, the inside of a locket, embedded in the heel of the agent's shoe, and the more laid back ones even chose to carry it in their wallet or handbag; as long as it is on them at all times, we don't care where they wear them, as long as they are wearing them." He paused, allowing the coommitee members to take in the sight, and then motioned for Reilly to go to the next slide.

"This was the state of 007's tracking device when it was recovered; it was apparently sewn into the inside of one of his pockets, but suffered intense damage when what we assume was an attempted flyswatt occurred, him being the target of course..."

"Old Soviet tactic; one of the more expensive tactics but worth it if it was done right," the head of S section chimed in; whenever the occasion came, he loved to talk of what he considred the "glory days". Q, however, found no glory in it whatsoever and continued.

"While we were reconstructing it in order to lift off any surviving files, an alien counterpart was discovered." The crowd murmured when Anne switched the slide, showing the foreign object. "Judging by the fact that it was almost microscopic, we believe that it was placed during the time period in which he was taken from Slobozia, Moldova, to Divaca, Slovenia."

"Could it be possible that it was placed before that?" asked one of the Prime Minister's aides.

"That would be impossible," answered Anne Reilly, "all tracking devices are checked regularly, and are especially checked before missions such as this one where we know that the agent will be following a so-called radio silence."

"The Alliance," the head of S section added, "about six months ago, got hold of a device that detects our trackers and than fries them by using an electromagnetic pulse; they then proceed to kill our agents and dump the bodies, while we're still figuring out where the hell they went. Some old Soviet technology with the Alliance twist; we sent a double agent to destroy it, but he is now assumed to be killed in action." Q coughed, bringing attention back to him.

"Our own Dr. Amadeus, while working for SPECTRE, luckily had seen technology such as this, and was able to help us immensely." Q motioned to Amadeus to take the stand, so to speak; the short, pre-balding man stood up, and could easily be seen as being nervous.

"As Q mentioned, this is the type of technology SPECTRE used towards the end of its height; however, because of their size and the amount of time needed to install them, they are only used in special circumstances. But, this is the first time that I have ever seen a version of them being used on tracking devices."

"What are they usually used on, Dr. Amadeus?" The Prime Minister asked. Amadeus seemed annoyed by this, but he never really liked people interrupting him for anything to begin with.

"Computers; if you didn't know, my job was to create computer simulations of terrorist attacks that included every possible scenario that the terrorists would face. Now, you can see, this software was seen as very valuable, but disastrous if someone like the Ministry of Defense or Intelligence got their hands on it."

"So they used these chips to track them," commented a woman at the back of the room. Amadeus gave the "don't interrupt me again look" and continued.

"While comparing this to counter tracking devices used by the Alliance, greatly assuming that their technology was an evolution of the technology of the SPECTRE cell they commandeered, I figured out that this wasn't theirs."

"On these grounds, we believe that a third party was involved in the circumstances of 007's unfortunate happenings that occurred on his ill fated mission." Amadeus seemed indifferent to M jumping in, for he, like many, was completely scared of her.

"The technology isn't meant to track the origin of the tracker's signal; we believe that the device is what we call a 'one-way ticket tracker'. It's programmed to track the individual until he or she reaches the preprogrammed place, and it just shuts off. It's virtually harmless, or at least had nothing to gain in 007's case."

"What do you believe was the final destination?" The Prime Minister asked, looking at M. Anne Reilly turned off the projector, returning to her seat along with Q and Amadeus. She was delayed when the head of S section, a willowy man, had accidentally put his briefcase on her seat and had to remove it.

"London; to venture a further guess, our own headquarters."

"Have you been able to track the source?" The Minister of Defense asked M. Before answering, she whispered something to Q, with him nodding an apparent "yes". M then preceded to hand the Prime Minister a manila folder.

"We have just recently confirmed that the counterpart was hand-made and is not made by any corporation that we know of; however, it appears to have the engineering finger prints of a Nicholas Romanova. From what we know, he was a scientist for the Soviet Union for about fifteen years; originally was in their army, but was discharged for undisclosed reasons."

"Do you have someone in Moscow following this up?" The Prime Minister asked, looking over his spectacles.

"Yes; as soon as he was discharged, he was hired by the Kremlin directly. We believe that his job was to copy foreign technology that had been captured by the KGB, along with anything SMERSH hadn't managed to destroy during their assassinations. From this, he became an expert with tracking devices. When the Berlin Wall fell, he disappeared completely; his wife and children didn't even know where he went. About three years later, we picked him up in Sicily; at that point he was working for SPECTRE. In 1997, an interrogation of a captured SPECTRE agent revealed that he had defected, and to this day, we believe that he is seeking political asylum somewhere in Switzerland."

"So this third party is in Switzerland," the Minister of Defense assumed, "so why aren't we in talks with their embassy? Ho wdo you even know that he's still in Switzerland?"

"Romanova is currently wanted for questioning by the CIA, along with several other intelligence agencies seeking payback for the Cold War days. If he were to even leave Switzerland, he would be picked up in a second." M paused, taking a look at the whole room. "What I'm about to say is not meant for Brotherhood; if anyone of you here, even you Prime Minister, repeat what I'm about to say, it will cause a breach in our foreign security along with those of many other countries." M gave Amadeus a nudge to explain further.

"Well, even though its harmless, or at least we think it is, only a certain type of computer can make it work; nobody makes it, for its completely useless in things such as surfing the web, processing, but is used purely for espionage-like things, like countertracking. What I'm saying is that the computer needed to pickup the counterpart's signal is well…unheard of."

"What do you mean that this computer is unheard of?" The Minister of Defense asked in an almost arrogant tone. Amadeus didn't dare showing annoyance and nodded to Q to explain.

"Pretend that the computer is a ship, and that our computers are a radar; even if it were three feet away from the scanners, the radar would still be shooting blanks; not only is it untraceable, it leaves no evidence. It is, in all sense of the word, the perfect computer for our line of work." The room was dead silent; fear was being realized. For years, every side of the spy games had wanted one, and it was finally here; the only problem was that no one knew where it was. Or, more importantly, who had it.

"As I said earlier," M said in a more tranquil tone than usual, causing an eerie sense to fall over the room, "we believe a third party was involved, and that if anything, they were working against the Alliance. Now, as you know, everyone was compromised, everything was compromised; our satellites, our codes, our protocols, our personnel and agents…this third party found a way to fight back, to defeat the monster. Though many of you may disagree, I think that 007 was in contact with them, that they helped him but the Alliance interfered before they could bring them home; how else would 007 know the right time, the right place…"

"M, please, answer the question on why the Swiss authorities haven't been contacted." The Minister, along with everyone else in the room, was running out of patience. M had to compose herself, for she had one shot, and one shot only.

"If the Swiss authorities are notified, its game over if they get hold of Romanova and the computer. You know, as well as I do, that we'll never get that computer or Romanova if the Swiss get there first. Also, we are still unclear on whether the Alliance is gone forever or is gone like the good old IRA's; underground, but ready to heed the call at a moment's notice. As fear was to the Alliance, we believe that this computer was this party's weapon; they were the Alliance's enemy, and because of this, we must make them our friends."

* * *

God, that was such a pain in the ass to write. I just read Casino Royale; amazing in every sense of the word. 


	16. I should of let her die

**I thought the original version of this chapter sucked, so I redid it. Plus, I accidentally put down stuff wrong (opps!).**

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Robinson arrived about two hours after Syke's page; it seemed that on his way to sickbay, all hell broke loose.

The laptop that served as one of the few keepers of NATO's codes and various top secret protocols was reported as being stolen by some Spanish terrorists; its keeper, as it turned out, left it on a bus in Madrid. There was an emergency raid on a group of college students in South London that were accused of trying to infect America's Wall Street with a virus that would make the Dow Jones hit rock bottom; it turned out that they were trying to download 500,000 songs from iTunes illegally, causing a hiccup in the iTunes Americas server. To top it all off, an angry protestor threw a mysterious package at a member of the Royal Family; when the bomb squad tried to detonate it, they realized that it was just a Bible wrapped in tin foil. Though the last was under MI5's jurisdiction, reorganization under a new Ministry of Intelligence, also called a sad attempt to combine both MI5 and MI6, required that MI6 double check any attempts made on a member of government or the Royal Family.

And of course, since M was summoned to a meeting of COBRA, her Chief of Staff, Agent Charles Robinson, was expected to handle all of this as if he was M himself.

Under Mawdsley, he had acted as somewhat as a Deputy Chief of Staff. When the whole Elektra King business was happening, he was the one selected to accompany her; not Tanner, but him. When 007 was finally released from imprisonment in North Korea, he was the one sent to supervise the transaction; again, not Tanner.

A year after the North Korea affair had occurred, Tanner had finally revealed to Robinson that he was being conditioned to be his replacement. Though Robinson wasn't really shocked at the news, Tanner seemed to be almost too happy for him.

"Retirement can't come soon enough my friend; because of this job, I've been divorced twice, my daughter refuses to talk to me, I can't remember the last time when I went on a vacation…have fun, in other words."

While some people would wish to run away at that point, Robinson didn't. At the point of Tanner revealing to him his destiny, he had had only one relationship that had lasted more than six months (it went a record seven), his only sister was refusing to talk to him because he had so-called scarred off her exchange student lover (in reality, he had him detained for he was an West African militant planning a major operation that concerned flaring up IRA tensions again), and he had gone to the World Cup with his cousin (though he was somewhat serving as eyes for the service during all the festivities). Robinson was a man that wanted to serve his country; he had served in the Royal Marines until a RPG hit his hum-v and permanently injured his back. He then started the process that would lead him to work at Scotland Yard, where his father was preparing to retire; he only took the exam (a way for a civilian to be employed by the Foreign Office) when MI6, and coincidently, Mawdsley herself approached him.

A year before Mawdsley's set retirement, an event that she personally distained, she was hit with several health ailments that involved long periods of hospitalization. Robinson could remember how furious she was about it all, for it came during reorganization (which involved removing MI6 from the Ministry of Defense and placing it in the new Ministry of Intelligence) something that Mawdsley was even more furious about.

"Hypocrites, the whole lot of them; don't they remember how much the last reorganization failed? But no, they have to take the next step; combining MI5 and MI6, two organizations, might I remind you, who hate each other respectfully even though one can't survive without the other. MI5 does their job, we do ours; but no, Parliament has decided to turn us into a single organization; now, if one gets compromised, there's no protecting the other."

Her successor was some retired Admiral that no one knew the name of; he was killed off before anyone got the chance to know him, though Tanner got to know him, of course, for it was decided that he, because of reorganization, should serve as Chief of Staff until things settled down a bit. Robinson was reassigned to supervise a black-ops section that had been running for as long, maybe even longer, as he had been working for MI6. Though, because of the amount of secrecy involved, he was given the cover as being a supervisor representing M on missions concerning the Middle East.

Then, after a couple of years, the Admiral's replacement true nature was revealed, igniting an inquisition of sorts of the whole Ministry; everyone from M's Chief of Staff to the least expecting secretaries were condemned.

When the new M came along, the position of Chief of Staff to the head of MI6's double-oh section lay vacant, and due to many recommendations, one of them being Tanner's, he was offered the job.

If anything, Robinson felt honored that he had picked him; when he found out about Syke's current method of retrieving 007's memory, however, he wished that he had hit the ground running when Tanner revealed his destiny.

* * *

Andrea's sheer willpower, stubbornness, and the knowledge that she was doing the right thing was the only thing that kept her from crying while Robinson, M's Chief of Staff, yelled at her. In these situations, though she usually tried her best to avoid them, she would let her mind wonder to happier times, but still pretend like she was listening at the same time.

"What the hell do you think you were trying to achieve? I should of asked M to remove you herself when you seemed under qualified for the job." Andrea would occasionally glance to Agent Bond, lying in his bed on the other side of the plexi glass window. She smiled when he saw him look at the photographs; something was definitely connecting in his memory. It was all a good sign, though would be probably seen as horrendous on M's timetable. To make them happy, she would need to make the impossible goal; find something so big, so meaningful to 007, that it would blow his memory right open, and it would all come flooding back.

"Yep, and probably drive him mad at the same time."

Bond would occasionally look up at Syke, that was her name, to make sure everything was okay; the man was yelling awfully loud at her, but she didn't seem that worried about it. Occasionally, their glances would meet; she'd show him a small smile, and he would look at the photographs again.

"I knew these people, no I know them," he kept telling himself over and over again, "I actually know these people!"

Vesper, the woman who betrayed him in order to save him; for an instant, he remembered holding her as a warm rain hit them. Tracy, his only bride, killed because of a grudge held against him; he remembered her standing in the ocean, he remembered running after her. Kissy, the only woman known to have given him a child; he could see her swimming above him. Then, there was the one named Fredericka, though he probably knew her better as Flicka; she was the one singing, he was sure of it.

Of course, there were other photos that Syke had yet to explain, though was interrupted by the duty doctor warning her about Robinson's approach.

"Elizabeth, she was talking about Elizabeth, though I probably knew her as Easy." For a second, his mind flashed an image of her float facedown in a river somewhere in Prague. Yet, he couldn't focus on the image, for his mind went reeling to somewhere else.

"She jumped," he told himself without realizing it. "She jumped and jumped in afterward."

"James, which one are you talking about?" the nurse asked him. He looked at the photos Syke was yet to explain; glimpses of trains, hotels, exotic locales, one night stands, betrayals, and tearful goodbyes was all he saw. The girl he saw jumping was none of them.

"I should of let her drown," was his reply, "I should of let her die."

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A cyber cookie to the first one who guesses the identity of the mysterious girl. Until then, later! And thanks for reading this revision! 


	17. No Chance of a Happy Ending

**Yeah for spring break! Oh, and I need you guys to help me out; if something in the story is bugging you (questions going unanswered, characters being too random…), please let me know. I want to make this story as good as possible for you all.

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"I don't know what's worse, being stuck in Santa's Grotto with all those creepy computer analyses or in a meeting of COBRA with all those blood sucking…"

"Oh, stop whining; my in-laws are ten times worse, and they're dead."

"Q!"

"Reilly, Q, can you both please save your comments till we're at least outside the building." Anne Reilly and Q stopped, taking point in Amadeus's advice, but then quickly disregarded it and continued their conversation. Out of embarrassment and of fear of making enemies out of the blood sucking politicians Reilly so lovingly referred to, he suddenly shoved himself into the nearest lift, one that was busting to the gills already, forcing Q and Reilly to wait for the next one.

"Austrians…" Q murmured under his breath, Reilly rolling her eyes at the remark. "And where the hell did M go? She drags us down here, makes us dance for bastards who can't comprehend what we do, even if they wanted to, and here we are, competing for the next lift back to civilization. If only I had some of those antacids with me…"

"If you did, M would have your head as soon as she found out…"

"Joking, joking, only joking; everyone's been so God damn tense as of late. Bond had the right idea, going blank in the head…"

"Quartermaster, you have crossed the line!" Reilly would have gone on further, but the lift finally returned and they had to almost jump to get a spot.

Within seconds, the heat was almost unbearable, the stench of expensive cologne from Paris nauseating, and with everyone breathing on everyone, everyone smashed together in the lift, Reilly felt like she was going to pass out at any moment.

"Looking a little green there; bet you wish I had those antacids on me right now."

"Where's M?' Reilly almost whined.

"Saw her chatting up Villiers about two minutes ago," rang a voice from the back of the lift.

"Who the hell was that?"

"Becky; I was interning at your branch until about a month ago when I got a job at the Ministry of Agriculture."

"What the hell is the Ministry of Agriculture doing at a COBRA meeting? Afraid the terrorists are going to unleash Mad Cow again?"

"Q! That is confidential information; if the public ever found out…"

"About damn time," Q murmured as the lift doors opened, pulling Reilly out of the lift and dragging her to the security booth. While they both showed their ID tags and signed out, Reilly was shooting him daggers with her eyes.

"What?" was Q's only reply.

* * *

"Has Arim had any luck finding the girl?' M said through her teeth while making it seem that she and Villiers were having an enjoyable conversation.

"No more luck then you've been having; we did are own check on the Syke girl." Throughout the whole exchange, he kept looking over his shoulder, paranoid that someone sinister was watching.

"And?"

"She's clean, but could be trouble if she finds out about Natasha."

"Let's just hope she doesn't; how's the man watching Robinson?" Villiers was about ready to answer when one of the Prime Minister's aides managed to drop a whole stack of manila files, causing a major distraction in Villiers' train of thought.

"Um…oh yes, the man watching Robinson; Arim wanted me to tell you that while the meeting was going on, Robinson had his own little meeting…"

"Let me guess; Mr. Tanner?" Even though it had been a couple of years since Mawdsley's retirement, she seemed to have a knack for keeping tabs on her former organization.

"Yes, seems they were discussing conspiracy theories. Why Bond went off the deep end, Natasha, the Alliance…"

"Let them discuss their theories, but tell Arim that I want Robinson pulled in at the smallest hint of suspicion."

"Suspicion of what, if I am privy to that information?"

"Suspicion of telling Syke the truth and my mobile is going off. Pleasant as always talking to you Villiers; tell Joe I said hello." While waving him off, she unclipped her phone and tried to sound as pleasant as possible when answering, but was cut off by Robinson.

"You need to take Syke off the case, now." Ever since Syke was appointed to 007's case, Robinson had been itching to have her removed, citing her lack of experience and relation to the girl.

"Robinson, she's clean; Arim just confirmed it, so grow up and accept that she is staying on and…"

"No, you don't understand, you need to take her off right now…" Though she tried to keep a pleasant disposition during Robinson's explanation, her expression quickly darkened, and a feeling of being trapped in a corner began to consume her.

"What can we do to make her stop showing the photos?"

"Pardon?"

"What other ways can she bring 007's memory back you buffoon!" She let the last bit come out yelling, forcing her to turn her back to the crowd of stragglers in order to ignore curious eyes.

"She wanted to see his flat."

"Take her to it."

"But what if…"

"Have one of our cleaning crews scour it for any reference to Triston, make it look like he got robbed if you feel inclined to do so," M cautiously looked over her shoulder and spotted the Prime Minister approaching, "accompany her if you feel that isn't enough, just make sure she doesn't show anymore of those damn photos." She hung up, and greeted the Prime Minister cheerfully; if only he acted as much in return.

"M, what the hell was that?"

"Just dodging a bullet, Prime Minister, nothing serious." The Prime Minister grabbed her by the shoulder and escorted her to a side hallway.

"I hope you realize that many members of Parliament are calling for a more fitting replacement."

"Prime Minister, I can assure you…"

"Don't screw this up," he said while walking away, "you're on your last life, along with all of MI6."

* * *

Syke was sitting in a chair outside Robinson's office, waiting to be scolded again, fired, or worse, forced to have a confrontation with M.

"Can't believe I ever found that man attractive, the tosser…" She looked down at her pinstripe pants, remarking privately how well they went with her lavender top, and fondly remembered how she got out of trouble at the Yard.

"One button if they were married for long, two if they were alone, three…hell, Robinson is so stuck up, if I went topless he wouldn't budge." In reality and truth, Andrea had never used her looks to get out of trouble, though she would imagine that she did, and play out thousands of scenarios out in her head; her boyfriend thought she was crazy for it, but she thought it was natural for the human psyche to fantasize.

"Sexists bastards, that's what men are, sexists..." Andrea was not allowed to finish her thought, for with the opening of the office door came the reckoning. He held it opened, motioning for her to come in; what scared her most was the fact that he wasn't talking at all. It reminded her of her first headmaster who refused to talk when he was very, very upset.

"I just got off the phone with M," Robinson began, Andrea's mind racing for possibilities of her fate, "and against my better judgment, I've been ordered to allow you to remain on the case."

"That's it?" There was a DCI that used to work at the Yard who would dramatically call people down to his office, on several occasions that person being Andrea, for the most pointless things; he used to work there because he got shot in the head and had been in a coma ever since.

"There's a catch; you can't show any more photos to Bond."

"When I first asked for them, I don't remember you having a problem with them then." Something was going on, and Andrea was driven to find the answer.

"Well, I think we could both agree that we weren't sure how well it would work back then, or if it would even work at all."

"Is there something you are trying to hide from me, Chief of Staff?" Andrea knew she would find out, sooner or later; the human mind is a well respected mystery, and has the curious reputation of giving information up at the eleventh hour.

"In the morning, you will report to your section at the normal time, and you will wait there until I call for you; I will then escort to Agent Bond's flat."

"So I'm being allowed to go to the forbidden place after all." The news made her cocky, and Robinson could sense it.

"Don't push it," he warned.

"So, do you expect me to go home early, or am I expected to go sit in my cubicle and admire how white the walls are?" She got up and left before she could see his scowl, but it didn't matter; Andrea had won the battle, but the war was still up for grabs.

* * *

"She would have been better off dead…didn't deserve it." Bond kept repeating as if he was under a spell, or stuck in a trance.

"Well," Doctor Alberts said while he finished his examination of Bond, "it looks like infection is occurring in his leg again, but there's no sign of a fever, which means…"

"A fever isn't causing this," Nurse Marie chimed in.

"It means," Doctor Alberts continued in an almost too aggressive way, "that his body isn't fighting back; page Doctor Singh and our contact at hospital."

"Are you going to amputate?" Nurse Marie knew that it would devastate 007, and that he'd rather be dead. The doctor looked over Bond's chart, not even hearing Nurse Marie for he was so deep in thought. "Do you have any idea why he keeps talking like he is?"

"Shell shock; seen it before, even in our best agents."

"And?"

"Hardly any chance of happy endings for the agent in question."

* * *

There was a woman with no face, no description, who would appear and disappear. For only an instant, she would be there, but by the time Bond's eyes focused, his mind would flash to somewhere else. On a beach with a radio playing a song of love, in a bed where the covers and linens had been shoved onto the floor, to a bridge in Prague where he felt he condemned her.

"She would have been better off dead…"

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**Please review.**


	18. It Will All Be Okay

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait! School just got out, and I had to re-read my story to make sure its still smooth sailing. I'll try to update more.

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"At least Robinson has good taste when it comes to cars," was Andrea's reaction when the black Jaguar pulled up to the curb. She was in a foul mood, and didn't exactly go to great pains to hide it. As she slid into the passenger's seat, Robinson kept looking straight ahead, and navigated the car into the horrid London traffic as soon as she secured her safety belt.

His driving wasn't exactly her cup of tea, though her mother was far worse; with her, one automatically regretted driving with her as soon as she turned the key in the ignition.

"Since you didn't put a black bag over my head, may I ask where we're going in Chelsea?" She could see him grin, and prepared herself for the quip.

"What, it isn't in the file?"

"No, for apparently, I don't have the clearance for it; seriously, where are we going?" She hated it when she didn't know where she was going; on the telly, it looks all cute when somebody blinds thier sweetheart and surprises them with a romantic locale, but she found it creepy and sadistic.

"You don't trust me?"

"I know you don't want me on this job. In fact, I think you don't want me at MI6 at all." She could see, even with him wearing shades, that he was giving her side glances.

"Don't worry; I would have to have M's clearance before performing a hit, and no matter how much I budge, she just won't give it."

"Because I'm a hardworking woman in a man's world who's determined to get the job done, even if I have to piss off her chief of staff?"

"No; too much damn paperwork before and after the hit." Andrea couldn't help but chuckle; Robinson was such an ass. "If it will put you at ease, in training, agents are given advice on where to live." However, this tidbit didn't help Andrea much, for Bond could of just gone to the internet for such advice, and totally ignore the advice given by his superiors.

"And what was that advice?"

"Live out in the open with a lot of flat ground between yourself and the world, or live on a small street with one entrance or exit."

"I take it he went with the later, so no one would suspect; but how can there only be one entrance or exit?"

"007 lives in a cul-de-sac off King's Road. You have any relations in those parts?" Andrea was a little annoyed with this; weren't they supposed to already know these things?

"My father knows someone there, but I've never met them; are we going undercover or something?" She turned to him, refusing to look away until he gave a straight answer.

"Bond has been injured in a skiing accident in Switzerland; we are associates from the banking firm he works out and have kindly offered to grab some personal articles for him and take them back to Switzerland. If anyone asks when he will return, tell them that he has decided to do his rehabilitation there and any other necessary treatment." Personally, Andrea thought that it was a lame cover, but since they were talking about James Bond here, and the fact that this was Chelsea, the neighbors had probably heard more outlandish things and believed it.

* * *

"Dr. Alberts, back from the pits of hell already, or is this what you usually do on your breaks?" Singh was expecting to walk into an empty infirmary, excluding 007 and Nurse Marie, and was quite surprised to find Dr. Alberts, usually stationed in the Agent Emergency Help Center, looking over 007's chart.

"Shut up or I'll make you take my place; has anyone spoken to M about his worsening condition?"

"He was doing fine when I left…"

"He needs a transfer to a real hospital, now; look at his legs." Singh then noticed that the casts and bandages had been removed from both legs, exposing specks of black flesh. "He has no sign of fever; if we need to amputate, we need to amputate now."

* * *

_He was staring up at the sky; blue, with white, non-threatening clouds. He could hear some people near by; he could feel the blanket and grass beneath him. As he got up, it automatically registered that he was in Cambridge, and that he wasn't the only one on the blanket._

_"James, is everything all right?" She was a woman in her mid thirties, a brunette, paled skin with the occasional freckle, and those eyes…Bond could just stare into them forever._

_Instead of answering with words, he leaned over her and kissed her passionately. Her lips were soft, and her response was conservative, held back, and mysterious._

_"Why wouldn't everything be alright?" He planted a kiss on her forehead and lay beside her on the blanket. Her voice held the coarseness of London Cockney, but was softened by the slightest French accent, as if as a small child, she called it home._

_"No one can ever know in your world." He had the sudden temptation to caress her face; but as he did, bruises appeared where his finger touched her skin._

"James, James, you're going to be okay." He was being moved; he could feel the hospital bed being navigated through what felt like random doors and hallways. Nurse Marie was leaning over him, saying more comforting words, but her face expressed quite the opposite of her promises.

"You're being taken to the hospital; everything will be okay."

* * *

Sucks, but at least I'm writing again. 


	19. The Governor Let Them Do It

**Author's Note:** HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Kicking ass for 231 years and counting.

* * *

Bond's flat was near pitch black when Andrea and Robinson entered; without the mere glimpses of sunlight that peaked through the closed curtains, Andrea knew that she would trip over something, Robinson would probably make some cheeky comment, and she definitely wasn't in the mood for that. As she passed a table in the entryway, she drew her finger across the wood, turning her finger gray with dust.

"Something's not right," Robinson murmured under his breath. He still lingered by the doorway, and attempted to yell "Stop!" as Andrea opened the red curtains, but was shocked by what the light revealed. He gave one look to Andrea, equally spooked, and preceded towards her.

"Robinson, I need you to be completely honest with me; I know you've been hiding information from me, but does Bond have a history of mental problems?" She set upright a lamp which's shade had been removed in order to give direct light to what appeared to be a group of blue prints on a side table.

"He suffered memory loss after his wife died; doubt it would cause all this."

"At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if it did; Bond was known for being organized, possibly overly hygienic, and all of this," she motioned to the mess of a room, "completely goes against the grain."

"For awhile, Bond did have a maid…"

"And she died several years ago, and from the looks of things, hasn't had a housekeeper since." In her head, she noted the extreme lack of personal objects in the flat 007 called home; no photos, no evidence of accomplishments, but it was only what could be considered a living room.

"Had he been traveling abroad a lot recently?" Andrea asked while bending down to get a better look at the papers on the coffee table; crumpled notes, pens, maps... "Look at this; mission planning maybe?"

Robinson looked it over, along with the other papers he had collected.

"Robinson?" He looked away from the papers and down at Andrea. "You need to tell me if your offices authorized this personal planning, because if you didn't…"

"This is against all sorts of protocols."

"This is Bond's mental state we're discussing..."

"No," Robinson said, shaking his head, "no, I don't mean it like that; missions, on this scale, are planned in high security areas, like Regent Park. Everything is marked, bar-coded, not allowed to leave the premise without high level clearance. Anything with this amount of planning has to get clearance from me."

"And you didn't clear this, and I'm guessing none of this is micro chipped…"

"Bar-coded," Robinson interrupted.

"Whatever, but back to my original question; when Tracy died, besides the streak of reckless behavior and memory loss, did he become paranoid, obsessed with any conspiracies, think anyone was after him?"

"Not that I can recall off hand." Robinson began to reach for his mobile.

"And your people didn't make his flat look like this to hide some information from me?" Robinson was silent, and Andrea stopped sifting through the papers.

"A crew was supposed to make it look like a break in, but they had an unexpected appointment near Buckingham." As Robinson said this, Andrea calmly got up and walked to where she thought 007's bedroom was. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I need objects of sentimentality, not something from the Pottery Barn."

"No, we're leaving." Andrea tried to continue, but Robinson grabbed her arm and tried to pull her toward the door.

"Let me go and I'll tell you why things are the way they are."

"And why would I do that? As of now, you're off the books, and are violating..." He started to drag her out of the flat, but she kicked him hard in the back of the leg, right on a pressure point, and tried to make a run for it. Before she could, however, Robinson got hold of her foot and yanked it, sending her crashing to the ground. She kicked and tried to scream, but no matter how hard she fought, he wouldn't let go.

"What are you so damned worried about?" she said while taking a breath, "its obvious he hadn't been living her for awhile." Robinson had been trying to dial numbers into his Q-mobile while trying to hold onto Andrea, but loosened his grip to let her explain herself. "A few years ago, I had a patient, severe schizophrenia, who was convinced that he was a double agent in the Cold War…"

"Was he?" Andrea was about ready to knee Robinson where it would really hurt on any man, but since he probably had a gun and had the upper hand, she decided to cooperate.

"Unless the Soviets were recruiting kindergarteners; as I was saying, complete schizophrenic, and he was convinced that his old enemies were still after him. At one point, he believed that they found out where he lived, so he planted some evidence suggesting that he was going to Africa, when in actuality, he was moving down the street."

"So, you think 007 was using his flat as a decoy?" He still hadn't let go of Andrea, and she was starting to get a cramp in her leg.

"Let go of me and I'll tell you what I think." He complied, and even helped her to her feet. As he started to smooth out a wrinkle in his suit, however, Andrea saw her moment of opportunity and made a run for 007's bedroom.

* * *

It wasn't that Robinson's reactions were slow; he always tested high in that arena in the yearly physical and mental competency tests he was subjected to annually at MI6, it was just what Syke said that made him stop and think.

"Where would he be living, if not here?" He could hear from her footsteps that Syke had already reached the destination she so desperately sought, and wondered if she'd find something that would reveal Bond's connection with Valentina; he didn't really care, it was M's idea to cover it all up.

"If it was up to me," he thought, "I would have told her from the start; hell, she wouldn't even be on the case if she caused problems." He could hear her now going through the drawers, and he calmly began to inch toward her location. In his head, he prepared the explanation, and on his Q-mobile, he started to call Tanner.

Halfway there, all he could hear was silence, and maybe some expletives that were muffled by the walls; he pushed the call button on his cell and waited for Tanner to pick up.

"Should I bring her to you or are you planning a trip to Bond's flat anytime soon?"

* * *

A man told him to count backwards from ten, saying that he'd be out by five; Bond was out by four. Everyone wore masks, and as he drifted away into a foggy dimension, he stared at the light.

"The light, I remember a light." Then, in his mind, he saw the car coming towards him in slow motion; black, shiny, possibly a Cadillac, and the fear of being unable to see the face of the man who killed 007.

_"James, James," someone whispered harshly while shaking Bond out of his slumber; as his eyes opened, he saw her face, her beautiful, scared, bloodied face._

_"They're going to make you forget, so you need to try…" She broke into sobs, and with her shirt, she tried to clean the blood and sweat away from his mouth and eyes. _

_"Natty, what are you doing here?" He had just finished a hit on a possible high ranking member of the Alliance when he felt something smash into the back of his skull; when he awoke, he found himself in hell._

_He was in a room with a cold concrete floor, the walls were cement brick, though one had a mirror, and he assumed that behind the mirror glass were the puppeteers of his torturers. Between the beatings, he'd stare at the lights above which gave the room a bluish glow._

_Though Bond was in no position to criticize, the Alliance, or at least what he assumed was the Alliance, had no Franks or Bill Orr. On one hand, he was grateful, but on the other, it meant that they were more painful because of thier lack of skill. In his mind, he began to wonder how many they had slaughtered in their poor interrogations and how much information went down the drain. _

_The pain he could deal with, for though pain can be borne, it does not kill, and only dulls the senses. However, though she was ex-MI6, he wondered how much Natasha could take. _

_At some point, he passed out, and now she was here, and was sobbing, and was bruised and bleeding also. All he could suspect in the matter was that they were going to use her against him; make him watch her being tortured, or worst…_

_"There is a man at MI6," she was shaking violently now, "named Joseph Arim. I need you, I need you to tell him…"_

_"Take deep breaths, we have all the time in the world." He cupped her face in his hands, trying to reassure her, make the monster called fear go away. _

_"I need you to tell him this exact phrase: They have taken the seventh knight, they have taken the grail, and the governor let them."_

_Before Bond could react, she was dragged from the room, and darkness ruled the world again._

_

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Please review. Sorry for the wait!


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